


Things you didn't know

by Daretobeforgottenagain



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Betrayal, Blood Magic, Character Bashing, Dark Harry, Dark Ron, F/F, F/M, Independent Harry, M/M, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Powerful Harry, Sex Magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 12:33:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 30,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8890828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daretobeforgottenagain/pseuds/Daretobeforgottenagain
Summary: Harry was never going to be a member of the Dursley family; but with effort, he could be tolerated. As a child, a desperate and cynical Harry makes a decision that has ever reaching consequences. Now, after his last chance at a family has died, and learning that normalcy was never to be his, the darkness he once sealed away begins to break free, and Harry-the-adult does everything he can to hasten its process. Harry was never a good boy, not really. And it's time the world knew that. There's more to privet Drive than you knew.





	1. Prologue

**Warnings:** Dark!Harry Ruthless!Harry Intelligent!Harry Politicallyaware!Harry Powerful!Harry. Varying types and stages of abuse, see below for details.

I don't know what pairing this will have, but most likely a very rare one. I enjoy writing those. By very rare, I don't mean Susan, Daphne or Draco either, something along the lines of Fluers mother, Justin, Piers. Ideas would be welcome, both slash and otherwise. Even crossover pairings.

This isn't a Super!Harry fanfiction, but I will say that it may come close. He is a child of propehcy, and I personally wish to think that his power could have been just that, power. love seems far-fetched to me, considering how many mothers would have sacrificed themselves for their children, even if it was on halloween. In this story, Harry was born dark. He didn't decide to become dark, or gradually become that was, he was born dark, as a phoenix is born light. (Yes, I am comparing him to a magical creature). I've made him the champion of magic and you will see what that means in later chapters. 

Anyway, to explain a few things, as a child, Harry sealed up his magic and 'darkness' in order to better fit in with the Dursleys. The Dursleys in this are not physically abusive, but do enjoy corporal punishment, even for Dudley (in the first book, Vernon cuffed Dudley on the back of the head when fleeing Privet Drive. What I want to do is therefore not much of a stretch). They are, as in the book, neglectful and emotionally abusive, and in this story Harry is exposed to sexual misconduct. Not rape, and nothing physical, but you will see what I mean.

I do not own Harry Potter or anything related to it.

XxX

“Cold”, thought Harry, wiping the moisture off, onto his jeans. His finger throbbed slightly with numbness.

Lines cut through the haze of condensation on his window, showing clean, sharp slivers of face whenever he glanced at the reflection, hoping vaguely to see through the frost, and into the garden.

It was summer. His summer had begun only the day before, when the order had seen fit to inform the Dursely’s of Sirius’s passing.

_Sirius._

Something painful gripped his heart, something disappointed and mournful and bitter. Sirius had promised him something he’d never had. Something he’d wanted, desperately. Something he thought, for once, he might be able to have.

_He had been a fool._

The Durselys had never stopped reminding him of his place in their world. Of his place anywhere.  
For all of their hatred, and fear of the abnormal, they had been quick to begin telling him that he wasn’t worthy of being a wizard either. That he didn’t deserve even that (their obvious opinion that nothing could be worse had already been forced, rather bluntly into his head). He was less wanted than the dust on Dudley’s broken toys.

The summer after his third year, bolstered by the lack of action taken at him having spent his life in The Cupboard, and later, in Dudley’s wretched second room, they had begun subtly testing the waters. An extra chore, one less meal, and he had almost been back on his way to his hole under the stairs. A strange protest from his uncle had Harry back in the smallest room within a week.

Harry had never wondered why no one had noticed his treatment. He wasn’t, contrary to what Hermione might sometimes think, stupid or unobservant. As a child, his tentative attempts to reach out to people who might help him were rebuffed in the firm manner of an adult who thinks they know best. And Harry, as the neighbourhood knew, was different. A bad, sickly sort of different.

 The Durselys, rather cleverly, had told people his parents had both been mentally ill. They whispered, quietly, of _Harry’s_ illness. His delusions. His hallucinations. His habitual lying. Once, they had said, when Harry was four, he had attacked Dudley with a pair of scissors: teeth snapping, eyes blazing, and screaming of demons.

_Dudley had attempted to push Harry down the stairs, and the momentum had forced him down instead. He had landed on a pair of scissors Harry had used earlier to cut away at Aunt Petunia’s garden._

Oh yes. Harry potter of number four private drive was twisted and broken, and they had genuinely feared him as a child. Even now, despite his rare outings, they shied away, eyes dilating in panic, mouths fixed in a rigor mortis grin as they greeted him.

Harry doubted the order knew of his reputation, though he was sure Dumbledore at least was aware of it. Dumbledore was aware of a lot of unsavoury things.

When Harry had started school, a young teacher had tried to help him. He hadn’t believed that such a young child could be schizophrenic, and had attempted to have him counselled, in order to find out the truth. A week later, a strange man in a purple suit had shown up, and the teacher had never approached him about it again.

At the end of the year, Harry graduated his class with a smooth yellow certificate, and a cheerful bid to say hello to his physiatrist for him (if he would be ever so kind), and to keep trying hard. He assumed that he hadn’t meant academically, because that had been the first and last year harry had done so well at school, and he hadn’t needed to try at all. He had been naturally bright, and hungry for knowledge. And despite his current marks, that hadn’t actually changed.

Harry had never seen a physiatrist, and at five, hadn’t known what that word meant. But he had dutifully nodded anyway, as the adults around him seemed to like him doing, and trudged back home to have his certificate ripped carefully in four, and receive a firm scolding for overshadowing Dudley.

Now, years later, Harry’s willingness to be swayed was flickering. He was tired of trying to be nice and pliable. He was tired of grinning when he wasn’t happy and frowning when he wasn’t mad. He was tired of pretending to be something he wasn’t.

_I need to change._

He was tired of mourning Sirius, when he hadn’t even known him.

And with a shudder, something clicked into place.

 

 

Slowly, Harry descended the stairs. His cousin was watching the television and his aunt was out, having been invited to a neighbour’s house. Vernon had taken a day off, for no discernible reason, but was giving no obvious clues as to his location.

In the kitchen now, Harry began to make lunch. While chopping the vegetables and dicing the meat for what promised to be a hearty stew, he let his mind wander.

What did he want, now that temptation had been rather forcefully ripped from him?

_Remus…_

No. Who was Remus really? He respected the man for his skills as a teacher, and felt a glimmer of affection for him, but underneath all of that, Remus was a man who had avoided responsibility for 12 years. He had ignored the fact that the son of his best friends had also lost someone, his parents in fact, and left him to rot. He had left, even knowing that he wouldn’t be with Sirius, but not caring to see who had been chosen instead.

_No. Not Remus then. Not really. Hermione? Ron?_

Friends, yes. But friends he needed to revaluate. He had been stumbling through life with fogged lenses, and his past decisions all needed to be accounted for and analysed.

_Oh, but I hope…_

Was there no one else to spring to mind when he considered possible precious people? Dumbledore was most definitely not on it. And at the revelation of the prophecy, he had in fact been put on a different list.

_People who want to control and potentially ruin my life._

It was one thing to condone abuse, but another to promote suicide. And that was exactly what Dumbledore was doing, because Harry sure as hell couldn’t hope to defeat Voldemort with ‘ _Love’._

_And really, do I even know what I’m fighting for?_

The only other people on that list were Voldemort, the Dursely’s and surprisingly, Molly Weasely. Sirius, despite the future he offered, had walked a very fine line. One too many mishaps with his name and his father’s had offered little in the way of paternal comfort.

 _But still, he had offered a_ future. _One with the potential for love._

But Harry knew now that things had worked themselves out. In his favour hopefully, no matter how much his heart twinged, and told him to grieve. To feel guilty for his thoughts. He knew he had been given another chance, and he was going to take it.

A slow, wide smile spread across his face, stretching his gaunt cheeks painfully and causing his eyes to glimmer.

He had power. And he knew it wasn’t love. Memories and knowledge streaked across his mind, and he knew that he wouldn’t (couldn’t, even) pretend anymore. The flimsy anchor ‘child-harry’ had planted in a desperate bid for normality had corroded, and the darkness it had held, was rising.

His emotions- those horrible, human atrocities- had begun, once again, to mute. His ambition, _his thirst to survive, and not only to survive, but to dominate,_ once forced dormant, had begun to awaken.

Soon, Harry would be who he was meant to be, _instead of what remained of a child’s faulty dream._

Goodbye Harry.


	2. Growth during flashbacks

**Authors note:** _In this chapter, Harry is going through changes and facing up to things he repressed in the past. His emotions may fluctuate, but that is normal_. _I’m alluding to a lot of things, and if you don’t understand something, I’ll perhaps expand upon it in my next note, as long as you let me know._

_I have an idea for this story, but suggestions for pairings and loyal friends are always welcome. I’ll probably update within the next couple of days._

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter.

 

Lunch had long been and gone, closer to dinner now, and Harry sat on the cot in his room, listless and contemplating. He had finally had the growth spurt promised by his Potter blood, and could barely fold his legs under him without his knees hanging off the sides.

He shuffled closer to the wall, before giving it up as a bad job, and stood up to look at himself in the mirror. This was the summer he would turn 16, and his birthday would mark the culmination of his childhood. In the magical world, this was a very important event; usually, family would spend the month beforehand celebrating, and if the person was at school, it would be postponed, but never missed. His physical, mental and magical self would change, directed by his blood but more by experiences, and would be reflected accordingly. He would be, almost literally, a whole new person.

Had he forgotten his true self, ignored his real feelings, and fallen into the role Dumbledore had planned for him, he would have emerged the perfect Saviour.

But he hadn’t.

Already, the changes had started, and already, he could see what he might become.

Tall and painfully thin, with sharp aristocratic features and steadily darkening eyes and hair, he was heading towards something he couldn’t bring himself to care about. But he knew Dumbledore, and perhaps the general public would.

There were other things to consider as well, things he had hidden from even himself until now. Gifts he had forgotten, friends he had forsaken…

“No matter” he murmured, as his Aunt called him down for what promised to be a meal dominated by meat and other things covered in grease.

_“Welcome back Harry…”_

No matter indeed.

XxX

Harry removed the plates from the table with smooth actions speaking of familiarity. He avoided Dudley’s outstretched foot easily, and hummed slightly to avoiding laughing at the fluttering of Petunia’s hands as she brushed the food off of her Darling Diddy. Vernon’s eyes tracked his every movement, as heavy as they had been all night.

It wasn’t the first time his uncle had stared at him like this; eyes gleaming with a strange, black light-but it were the first time this summer.

Less amused, but still humming, he twisted and swayed as he made his way around the table, loading the remaining dishes into his already aching arms. He reached out for the gravy boat, but his grasping fingers were clumsy and instead of picking it up, it ended up tipping over, spilling thick globs of sauce on the tablecloth.

There was silence, and then pain. Vernon had reached over the table and grasped his hair by the roots, shaking him harshly, and causing him to lose his grip on the other dishes he had been holding. Dudley was silent and pale, and Petunia was looking away, but Vernon…

_Dark rooms and flickering televisions.  ‘Sit, boy.  Don’t move.’ Where was Aunt Petunia?  Was she out? ‘Oh, y-yes. Yeah… Don’t move boy!’ He didn’t like this. He didn’t like this. He didn-_

Vernon was holding him stationary, staring silently at his face. He was smiling slightly.

“Clean it up, boy”, he whispered. Gently untangling his fingers from Harry’s hair, he gave the boy a small push, and then leaned back in his seat.

“An honest accident,” he stated aloud, much to the bemusement and suspicion of Petunia. Dudley, not as stupid as he used to look, glanced worriedly at his cousin for a few seconds, before silently leaving the table.  The television turned on in the other room, and Harry quickly began gathering the largest pieces of china.

Petunia left after a little while, presumably to attend to Dudley, and Vernon just sat there, watching Harry clean.

  _All the while with that same small, disturbing smile,_ Harry thought. A shiver of apprehension threatened to ripple through his body, buffeted by a deep, grim fury at the situation. Heat rushed to his cheeks, in direct contrast with the thin, pale line his mouth made, and he hurried to the kitchen to smother his anger and gather proper supplies.

His uncle remained in the dining room, not making a sound, a pocket of silence between the rapid beating of Harry’s heart, and the murmuring voices on the television in the lounge. Still not moving, and apparently waiting for Harry to come back.

It was terrifying to Harry, despite his new resolve and developing self, terrifying because he knew what those looks meant, and terrifying because he knew he still had a fair while until his birthday. It had been years since his uncle had been like this, acted beyond looking, but he knew, after the commotion in the train station, that his uncle had had enough. He didn’t know what would happen, now that he was fifteen.

Sure enough-

“Petunia, _Pet,_ how would you and Dudley like to go out tonight, maybe see that new movie that’s been so popular- the one about the aliens?”

He could hear his Aunt’s surprised murmur of response, but not the actual words.

“No, it’s a treat for our Dudders, for doing so well this year. And you haven’t spent any quality time re-bonding properly yet, have you? He’s growing up, a young man now. Things will have changed while he was away. Maybe he has a girlfriend now, a strapping lad like ours-“

More murmuring, and then a pleased hum from Vernon.

“I’ll be able to catch up on the paperwork, watch the show on the Telly you think is too violent. Maybe call some fellows from work.”

Harry could hear Vernon’s chair scrapping as he stood up, and hastily bent to look under the sink for the rags he should have already found.

Vernon stepped into the kitchen to collect his wallet from the bench, and just as quickly left.

Dudley’s voice, much louder than his mother’s, complained about just having sat down. But at the promise of more food and a rather hyped up movie, he relented, grumbling as he left to get his shoes.

A good ten minutes later, while Harry was quietly putting the last of the scraps in the bin, they were ready to go.

Dudley popped in to the kitchen, to grab the last soda in the fridge, and turned to leave. He paused a little before the door, turning to look at Harry, something old and vaguely familiar in his eyes, before jumping a little as his mother’s shout broke whatever short spell had held him there. He shook his head a little, turned hesitantly away from Harry and murmured a quick, surprising, goodbye as he left.

The door slammed shut with an alarming finality, and Harry, standing motionless in the centre of the kitchen, could do nothing but wait.


	3. Enchanting

**Authors Note:** _Keep in mind during this chapter that Harry knows Vernon has no qualms about forcing him to commit sexual acts. Remember too, that you do not actually know what Harry is planning. I’ll reveal that in the next chapter._

**Warnings:** _This chapter contains potentially disturbing content in the form of Vernon having inappropriate sexual thoughts concerning Harry, and some inappropriate contact, instigated by Harry. Also, Vernon is a little obsessed with Harry- thought you ought to know._

**Disclaimer:** _I do not own Harry Potter._

Vernon’s POV

Uncle and nephew sat in the lounge silently, as they had for the past 30 minutes. Vernon was nursing his second whiskey as he stared at The Boy, as rapturously as Harry seemed to be staring at the mute, flickering television. Ice crackled as he took a sip, and he noticed The Boy tense, and remain tense, as he swirled the liquid languidly.

Vernon had missed this; this sense of complete domination and control. His promotion to director at Grunnings had nothing on this feeling. Telling people what to do at work was required of him. It was standard, black and white, and not satisfying at all. They did what he said, because of his title, not him, and they moved on. They forgot about it.

Sweet Pet was a wonderful woman, but he did not delude himself when it came to her. She had married him to secure a future for herself. He had been large back then, as he was now, but more solid- a thicker type of husky. He had come from a solid, middle class family, and had been embarking on a promising career at Grunnings.

She was from a middle class family as well. The eldest child. But she was not pretty as her sister was.  She was very tall for a woman, and extremely thin. She had no wiles with which to tempt him, and when they first met, he had barely masked his aggravation with her. He had been trying to talk to the enchanting red-head beside her. Her sister, as he later found out.

They had met again only a few days later, and he had asked her out on a whim. Her blonde hair had been down that day, and something about the sunlight and the wind playing with the wispy strands had done strange things to his thought process and smothered his irritation at her bland smile.

It became apparent after that that their bitterness at the world, and shared, quiet desperation to be acknowledged had made them a good match, and at her urgings, they had married. He did not regret it.

_However,_ he thought, gazing at The Boy, _her sister had indeed been a creature of beauty._ Her son shared many of her traits, though they had been most apparent as a young child, and now, they appeared to be resurfacing. His eyes traced the graceful arch of his neck as Harry swallowed nervously, looking at the smooth jut of his collarbone as it peaked out from Dudley’s large shirt collar. He let his eyes flit over the strong jawline and fragile fingers and found himself gazing at thin, firm looking lips. He flicked his gaze towards The Boy’s eyes and peered at what he could see shadowed beneath thick lashes. The Boy still refused to look at him, but with a subtle clearing of his throat The Boy’s stare jumped over and caught his. Dark, hypnotising eyes of green stared at him, wide and strange on his narrow face. A small tongue flicked out subconsciously and he found himself hardening instantly.

_Lily Evans had nothing on the creature that was Harry Potter. It was a true shame that he’d be sullying that youth- freak or not- but Vernon knew his weaknesses, and willing or not, he meant to have him. He was not a violent man by nature, but the Potter boy…if it was the only way he could have him, then he would. The boy was too enchanting. Too Magical._

Normal POV

Harry thought as fast as he could while constricted by fear. He knew what would happen if he couldn’t stop it. His uncle was not a paedophile; his age would be an encouragement now, instead of a deterrent. Whatever had kept his uncle back for the past several years had disappeared.

His birthday was in a month, and then he would be free to fight back as he liked. But he could not wait a month. Threats would not work. Pleading would not work. His uncle had gotten away with this before, and was too irate over the Order’s warnings to care about pushing too far now. He knew his uncle thought that Dumbledore would cover it up, yet again.

He could not stand to have his past weaknesses cripple him. As long as his uncle did this, whatever this was, his progress would be impeded. _My inheritance would be affected._

The thought of his maturation being significantly affected by this whale of a man infuriated him. The thought of what he had already allowed as a child, by creating his alter ego stung bitterly at him. The fear that had developed as a result had stained him. His actions as a Gryffindor had tainted him. If he allowed this to continue, his selves would merge and he would be left with a horrendous weak point. He could feel the fear battering at him, even as he callously disregarded it. Such fears and emotions were obvious flaws in his character.

He was left with several choices, none of which he liked, but he settled on one that would satisfy him somewhat, even if it was a gamble. A terrifying, potentially disastrous gamble. _But as of now, the ministry are desperate to make it up to me. After that debacle with the death eaters at the ministry, everyone knows that Voldemort is back. Their image depends on my stand concerning ministry opinion._

_And really, there was no way Vernon would influence his inheritance- not if he could stop it. Dumbledore would be no help to either of them now._

Widening his eyes, and looking at Vernon, he allowed himself to blush. His tongue darted out to wet his lips. “Uncle Vernon” he murmured, voice low and breathy. “Would you like another drink?”

Vernon visibly started, before narrowing his eyes. “What are you playing at boy?” he snapped.

Harry lowered his gaze silently, looking as small as he could, before glancing up through his lashes. His uncle was watching him avidly, though he still had a snarl on his face, and his hands were tight around his glass. “I thought maybe you would like one” he whispered, trying not to break the curious silence. “You look tired. I overheard you telling Aunt Petunia that you needed to finish some paperwork, so I just assumed you must be overworked; if they’re giving you so much work that you can’t even spend time with Dudley.”

His uncle was watching him suspiciously, so he hastened to explain himself. “I’m sorry Uncle Vernon, it’s just that-“he choked a little, biting back furious sobs, “It’s just that my G-God father, Sirius, he died not even a couple of weeks ago-“This time he did sob, heaving great breaths of air into his shivering body. “I thought maybe you’d let me have one with you, that maybe we could t-talk”.

The silence then was thicker than any silence Harry had been in before, broken only by his crying as he tried to get himself under control. Vernon’s hands remained white knuckled on his glass, but his gaze was now curiously blank. “Talk boy?” He shifted. “What the devil would we talk about?”

Harry shuddered and looked at his uncle. “Before Sirius died-” Vernon gaze a vindictive snort and Harry let his trembling, thin voice override it. “Before Sirius died, he explained some things to me. Things no one else thought to.” Here he muttered bitterly, face twisted in anger and betrayal. “Things they kept from me on purpose.”

Vernon was obviously listening, leaning forward slightly with a look of unintentional interest, gaze drinking in the way the boy looked when upset.

Harry stopped talking, turning away and wrapping his arms around himself, overwhelmed by his own thoughts. He looked so very lonely.

“What boy? Spit it out! What did they keep from you?”

Harry looked stricken by his outburst, and Vernon made an obvious effort to think his words through. “Was it that Dumbledore fellow, Boy? I knew he was no good. Head freak of the lot-“

He cut himself off, only to freeze at the sight of large, wet eyes staring soulfully at him. He set his glass down with obvious effort, and gestured at the arm of his chair, indicating Harry should come over from the couch and sit.

He did, but slightly more violently than expected, rushing over and flinging his arms around Vernon, straddling his lap, sobbing against his neck. The feel of the warm, lean body flush against his muddled his thoughts and he could barely concentrate on The Boy’s words. Eventually though, he managed to get the gist of them, muffled as they were. “I can’t. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t-“

“Now see here boy!” He rumbled. “You wanted to talk, so talk! I’ll not stand for you to cry all over my lounge without an explanation, so start talking!” He didn’t mention the unusual position the boy had taken, instead pulling him more firmly against him. The Boy was so soft. So warm and sweet smelling. He could feel the firm swell of his buttocks against his hardness, and wondered at the level of distress the boy must be in to not notice his uncle’s inappropriate reaction to his proximity. How far could he willingly take this in the boy’s distressed state? The fleeting thought of his nephew actually allowing his advances stirred in his mind, even as a larger, more rational part of himself laughed wickedly at his delusion. Maybe he could-

He froze, as warm breath ghosted against his ear, and the body in his arms pressed closer. “You’ll tell Aunt Petunia.” The words, whispered into his ear, drove his lust from a fire into an inferno. He barely comprehended what had been said, and savoured the image of The Boy whispering sweet nothings into his ear. Harry leaned back and gazed at his uncle with large, stricken eyes. “You’ll tell Aunt Petunia, sir. I can’t, I don’t-“He shuddered. “I don’t-

“I won’t!” Exclaimed Vernon hoarsely. “You can tell me anything Harry. Anything you want to, and I won’t tell Pet. The poor woman has enough to worry about without talk of freakishness. I won’t say a word boy.”

Harry looked up at his uncle through lowered lashes, gave a tiny smile, and leaned forward to give him a tight, lingering embrace.

 “Thank you sir.”

And Vernon was hooked.

XxXx

By the time Harry had finished with his story, as false as it was, his uncle would not think of touching him until his birthday. That was plenty of time to do what he needed to do.


	4. Spinning the web

**Authors Note:** _Sorry for the delay since my last update, but my medical condition kept me at the doctors continuously. I’ve been rather busy. I will however, update more often now that I’m free._

**Warnings:** _This chapter contains potentially disturbing content in the form of Vernon being creepy and harry acting subservient and naïve. This story will not contain Mpreg, it just alludes to it. I personally, do not like Mpreg. I also use the word fag in a derogatory manner. This in no way reflects my thoughts or speech, and is simply part of the story._

**Disclaimer:** _I do not own Harry Potter._

_ Flashback _

_Harry sat on his uncle’s lap, pushing his thin body up against Vernon’s considerable girth, and had his mouth pressed to Vernon’s ear. Vernon was rigid in all sense of the word, and had his hands clenched tightly at his side._

_“The muggle- sorry- non-magic world”, Harry began, “outnumber witches and wizards by 1000 to 1. Some people think that it balances the world out, having more people with less power, and less people with more, but magic itself seems to disagree. The world adapts and changes after all, and I know non-magicals have weapons and technology we could only dream about, if we even knew about it. The balance changes on both sides, constantly. I know that in the muggle world, Homosexuals-“_

_Vernon stiffened and his face began turning red._

_“-that homosexuals aren’t understood, let alone treated fairly, but in the magical world, they’re fully accepted.”_

_“Where are you going with this boy?” Vernon hissed. “I didn’t ask to hear about freaks among freaks, and if you think-“_

_“Uncle Vernon!” Harry was gasping, wriggling against Vernon, “You’re hurting me!”_

_And indeed, Vernon’s hands had gone from at his side, to clutching Harry’s hips, fingers digging into the denim painfully. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, and his face had turned from red to purple. At Harry’s words, he took notice of his hands, and stopped their bruising grip. He left his hands where they were however, taking note of their position, and feeling quietly pleased._

_Harry had stopped wriggling, and rested his cheek against his uncles chest, letting his breath rise up and hit the ruddy skin of Vernon’s neck.  
“May I continue?” The voice was quiet, and Vernon bit his tongue, instead choosing to give a rough nod, which Harry felt._

_“ Homosexuals are accepted for a reason. Wizards are just as unaccepting as muggles, and I believe that one of your main reasons for hating it is that it serves no biological purpose. Men can’t have children; therefore sex between men serves no purpose. But in the magical world, they can. Likewise, so can gay women.” Harry felt Vernon shake with anger and impatience, and carefully hurried his explanation._

_“To this extent, their acceptance makes sense, but what doesn’t is what I’m about to tell you next.” He paused, trying to summon the necessary emotion to make this work._  
“The magic…mutated.” He started shaking, and turned his face into Vernon’s shirt. Vernon felt wet warmth spread from where the boy’s head was, and warred between affront, and interest. The boy was crying for goodness sake, and on him no less. He cleared his throat roughly, and brought his hands up to the boy’s waist, giving a strange version of a hug, considering he was painfully aroused, and the boy was quietly hysterical. Eventually, he had had enough, and shook the boy lightly.  
“Boy! Boy- Potter!”

_Harry stopped crying at once and brought his head up to meet his uncle’s gaze. His face was red, but Vernon saw that it made his eyes sparkle. The boy was biting his bottom lip, and it glistened with saliva, bringing to mind some of the pleasant things that Vernon was planning to do to them later._

_“Do you want…may I continue…sir?” Harry’s voice was soft and Vernon had to strain to hear it. Vernon gave another rough nod, and felt a sharp spike of arousal as Harry gave him a small, watery smile._

_“The magic mutated. It gave us what should have been a gift, and made it into a horrible situation. I don’t know why it happened, and S-Sirius didn’t either, but it seems even magic hates f-fags!” Harry looked stricken and clutched at his chest for a moment, before taking a deep breath and continuing. Vernon, despite himself, looked interested._

_“What I didn’t know, and what no one deigned to tell me, was that the first time we have sex, we form a bond with the person, one that never dissipates. This is not so bad. In most cases, they either fall in love, or become best friends. Sometimes, the bond is one of hatred, in cases such as violent or unwilling sex. But in a situation where two males make love-“_

_Vernon snorted._

_“- magic becomes very cruel.”_

_Harry stopped talking, and became silent, as he got lost within his own thoughts. Vernon, finally listening properly, nudged the boy, impatient as to how this way going to end. What was the point of this whole conversation, as pleasing it was to have the boy against him. Pet and his Dudders would be home soon, and-_

_“When two men have sex, if one is a virgin and has reached magical maturity, then I pity him. If you are gay you either have to: lose your virginity to a woman, cementing a permanent bond of resentment and all sorts of negative consequences, due to the begrudging coupling: mate before you turn 16 or…”_

_“Or what boy!”_

_“Or the virgin become the complete property of the other male. If they’re both virgins, they become the ministry’s. The same is true for lesbians.”_

_Silence greeted his words, thick and incredulous. Knowing he had to make this work, and work well, Harry quickly continued.  
“Everything the Virgin owns becomes his partners. Any property, money, titles- all transferred. This isn’t so bad, if the couple are in love, or betrothed, but in other instances…” His words were choked and full of betrayal, “In other instances the Virgin becomes a slave. And the Order-Dumbledore, had planned to make me one.”_

_Vernon couldn’t wrap his head around what the boy was saying. His first instinct was to crow to himself, that yes, he was right- they truly were freaks. His second, more insistent instinct, was telling him to ask for details. That he needed to know everything there was to know about this. Vernon was not a stupid man. He wasn’t razor sharp, but his instinct was worth following. He didn’t know that his instinct had completely missed the sharpness behind the wet eyes of the boy, and the force behind his sobs, but it was enough for him that he knew more than the apparent._

_He could see why they wanted Harry as a slave. He was more magical than any other freak he had ever met, apparent in the way he walked and spoke. Apparent in the slim turn of his wrist; the sharp jut of his collarbone; the glow in his eyes. The boy oozed otherworldliness and beauty. It went beyond the physical and struck him in his soul. His mother had been a flower in a desert. Harry was something much more. A flower planted by the Gods. And someone else had finally noticed it. He knew though, that it was not his beauty they were after, at least, not just. Potter had mentioned an order-multiple people, and it seemed as if only one could be his master._

_He leaned backwards, and asked the boy why. He needed to know. He needed to know everything before he took the boy. Magic was tricky and disturbing, and he wanted to know everything he could._

_“I’m the heir of a noble and Ancient house of aristocracy. Dumbledore, or rather, Snape, would become the lord in my stead, and have complete control of the estate, of which includes a vast amount of money. They would be able to fund their war efforts, control my seats in the government, and use me as a weapon, and I could do nothing to stop them.” He flicked his eyes up to meet his uncle’s briefly.  
“And Snape, he hated my father. But Sirius said he had made it quite clear that he’d bring out my mother in me. That he’d…use me frequently.”_

_He paused, letting his eyes fall closed and turning numb, slumping against his uncle._  
“ Not even my friends told me. I could have slept with a muggle, and the same thing would have happened, if I was of age. Of course, I know they were watching me now. They needed to make sure I was a virgin until I hit 16. The only time they don’t is when I’m here, because they know you don’t let me out of the house.”  
He took a breath, turning into his uncle and sleepily clutching at his arms.  
“ They’ll take me away when I turn 16. And then I’ll be a slave.”

_His voice trailed off, and Vernon looked down to see Potter asleep against him, mouth slightly open, eyelashes fluttering slightly. He was still confused and slightly overwhelmed, but already he was forming a plan. He had plans to take the boy, and they would not change. He could do it now, or in a few days, or a week-whenever he decided, and be happy. The boy could avoid being a slave and he would be satisfied- it was a win-win situation. But thinking carefully, he considered the ramifications of Harry’s status and wealth._

_If it happened before the boy’s birthday, he would be satisfied. But the boy could bring that wealth and status against him for his actions. Before, it wouldn’t have mattered. His obsession had reached the point where nothing else was of concern, and the only real regret he would have had upon arrest, would have been not having the boy longer. He would have returned to Petunia after a few years, and Dudley, his bright, strapping boy, would have understood._

_But now, he could have his cake and eat it too. It would be hard, but he would wait until the boy turned 16. And then, the money, the titles, and the supple, young body, would all belong to him. And that Snape, whoever he was, wouldn’t lay one finger on his boy. He could stay with Vernon instead of returning to that ruddy school._

_Grinning a disturbing little smile, he stood up with the boy in his arms, and made his way upstairs, pale skin and willing groans flitting through his mind._

_In the light of the stairway, a pair of glimmering green eyes shone darkly._

XxXx

Harry sat on his cot again, staring at the wall and thinking. The last few days had been very taxing, acting as an emotionally fragile and betrayed teenager, but he had managed. The mild flirtation he had initiated with his uncle had been more difficult, trying to make it seem unconscious and natural, and only doing it where his cousin or aunt couldn’t see. He was weaving a very fragile web, and the slightest thing could disrupt it, but he knew that this plan had been the best option.

Initially, he had considered simplifying the story and simply telling his uncle that he couldn’t have sex until he was 16 or there would be painful consequences, but several factors had convinced him to do otherwise. Firstly, he had to have a story so unbelievable, that it became believable as a result of its sheer complexity.  None of it was true, baring homosexual couples being able to conceive, and it was not a gift from magic, rather a ritual devised by man; the only legal ritual in Britain to be exact. Harry knew that there was more to Dumbledore than he knew- more to everyone actually- but he was quite certain it wasn’t that. And Snape… he sneered. He wasn’t quite sure why he had chosen Snape as the villain, but it had certainly made it easier to act disgusted.  He couldn’t take the chance that his Uncle might decide he was lying. Hence the next point- an incentive to wait.

It appealed to his uncle’s greed. In all aspects; money, status, sexually. Vernon knew a good deal when he heard one. And harry knew that Vernon wanted him, even if he wasn’t completely aware of the extent.

Lastly, at least for major points of interest, it helped shape his awakening persona. He was dealing with a potential crisis in a manner that called upon his skills in deception, his sensuality, and certainly, his ambition. All traits he needed to cultivate carefully in order to have the best chance at erasing child-Harry’s damage during his inheritance.  Even if the raw nerve taken to do so was decidedly Gryffindor, it was a good trait to have, when utilised appropriately.

He couldn’t run away, as there were guards watching the house, contrary to what he had told Vernon, and he knew his Aunt would be no help. Neither would Dudley. They would get what was coming to them, but for now, he was focusing on Vernon. On avoiding permanent damage from him, and on leading him into a trap.

He stretched his legs out and smiled a chilling smile. He was playing a dangerous games, but his heart beat with glee as well as fear. He was in a soul-destroying situation with no way out, physically, legally or magically, and he was winning.

He thought of everything he needed to do, and everything he needed to happen, and gave a soft laugh. Magic sparked at his fingertips, black and riotous, and he kept laughing, even as the shadows grew longer, then shorter, and day dawned. 


	5. Red light disco

**Authors Note:** _Finally, a longer chapter! This is not slash between Harry and Lucius or Harry and Draco. I still haven’t decided if it will be slash, but at this stage it most likely will be. Just not with the Malfoys._

**Warnings:** _This chapter contains potentially triggering and disturbing content in the form of severe gore, flashbacks containing abuse, and death. There is a lot of blood. Also, this story is not a crossdresser!Harry story. It just was for this chapter because it wrote itself in without my say so._

**Disclaimer:** _I do not own Harry Potter._

It was the 30th of July, and Harry was up in his room, pacing.

He had grown another two inches, and stood at a remarkable 6’1. His hair grew great lengths daily, and though he wished nothing more than to cut it off, his uncle insisted he keep it at its current length, somewhere near his knees.

Everything seemed to be operating in hyper speed, and he was anxious about the speed at which he continued to change, even on the day before his birthday. 

The books he had read, huddled under his invisibility cloak in a dusty corner of Hogwarts’s library, had stated that the largest change occurred during the inheritance and that any minor, preceding changes should have slowed or stopped by now.  He didn’t know if this meant that his magic was merely spacing out the growth, or if the change was indeed so radical that these changes were meant to be considered minor.

He knew it was most likely the later, and as a resulted, he worried. Hence the pacing.

He knew he should be more worried about Vernon, but such worry was pointless. Either his plan would work, or it wouldn’t. And he was confident that it would.

Petunia and Dudley had been sent out of the house on a small vacation only four days after Harry had carefully propositioned his uncle. Vernon had come home with two tickets to a cruise that he said Marge had won and gifted them with.

Petunia had been ecstatic until she realised that Vernon didn’t mean to go, and was instead sending her along with Dudley. She had tried reasoning with him that it would be a nice romantic Holiday, and that Dudley could stay with one of his ‘nice friends’- but Vernon merely mentioned Harry and she quickly stopped that train of reasoning.

Then she had mentioned that no one should go, because it wasn’t fair on Vernon, but his uncle had simply told her that he was swamped in work anyway, and that he wanted to give her a chance to relax. Besides, Dudley was a strapping young man, and needed worldly experiences to support his great presence.

After the mention of her darling son she gave in gracefully, and went off to gossip over her good fortune to the neighbours.

Dudley refused to go point blank. He brought up friends, television shows, boxing classes, and even summer homework, but nothing convinced Vernon to let him stay. Suitably chastised and threatened, he gave in too, but far from gracefully.

Any words he spoke to Vernon were short and clipped. He avoided him whenever he could, and left as quickly as possible after meals.

The behaviour baffled Harry until the night after, when he overheard Dudley on the phone to Aunt Marge.

Vernon had taken Petunia out for a goodbye meal, and Harry had crept downstairs for a glass of water. Dudley was there on the phone, shifting anxiously from foot to foot.

“So you didn’t win anything Aunt Marge?”  
“Oh, I know your dogs are winners, but what I meant was-“  
“-no, no tickets! Cruise tickets!”  
“No? But…”  
“Yes, Aunt Marge. It was probably a dream I had. I’ve been having a few odd ones.”

Harry left quietly no water in hand, the conversation having confirmed something he had long suspected about his cousin.

When they had both been young, and Vernon had first ventured into his inappropriate interactions with Harry, he had made the mistake of not waiting until they were alone in the house.

It had been late at night, and Harry had been sitting petrified on the floor, facing the living room door. His uncle had been behind him on the couch, letting his eyes wonder from The Boy to the television, where a late night foreign film was showing- the kind with more sex than subtext.

His uncle’s hand had been clenched in his hair, and he had no idea where his other hand was, but the sounds his uncle had been making disturbed him. He knew the situation was very wrong, but he was only young, and a known troublemaker. No one would believe him. By this stage, he had already started repressing his true self to bring a more agreeable personality to the fore. He couldn’t even save himself.

His uncle had been making strangled grunting noises, and they filled and burned Harry’s ears, but he still heard the quiet shuffle by the door.

It was Dudley. He stood in the door way, half hidden behind a plant, and stared at his dad with confusion. Vernon had not seen him, but Harry and Dudley locked eyes, sharing their feelings of panic and apprehension. Dudley was pale- more pale than Harry- and swaying gently. He could see what Harry could not, and obviously it was what Harry knew, deep down.

Harry hoped for a second that Dudley would step in, and stop this, whatever it was. But Dudley was only seven. He loved his father with a child’s blindness.

Dudley had walked away.

Harry wondered what Dudley hoped to accomplish by confirming his Dad’s lie. He couldn’t stop it from happening. He didn’t even like Harry, let alone want to help him.

Harry thought perhaps Dudley wanted to be convinced of something else; maybe that his dad was innocent and that his memory was a bad dream.

Whatever the case, all Dudley had left now was a cruise ticket, a disturbed father, and a cousin he was leaving in Hell.

Once again, he was walking away.

XxX

After they left, with Petunia crying happily and Dudley refusing to look at anyone, Vernon had laid down some rules.

Every breakfast and dinner was to be eaten together and made by Harry.

Harry was to call his uncle ‘Vernon’.

Harry was to wear only white, which was difficult as Dudley had never worn anything white, and Harry had no clothes of his own. Vernon had stoutly informed him that most of Petunia’s clothing was white or yellow, and that he would have to make do. Never mind the fact that she only wore dresses.

Harry was to be nice to Vernon, and respectful of him.

Surprisingly, Vernon made no rule against the subject of magic.

Harry had done all of this, acting mortified at first, and then begrudgingly grateful. He had chosen dresses that fell off his shoulder, to which he would blush and stammer.

He called his uncle by his name.

He always asked how his day was, and made sure to appear genuinely interested.

He always sat in close range to him, and touched him gently when talking.

His uncle in turn, adored him.

Every day there would be a rose on the table, as red as Voldemort’s own eyes.

Dinners would be done by candlelight.

Conversations would be spent equally talking about Harry.

Every day was a very fine line for Harry to walk. He had to play the innocent seductress, completely clueless and ignorant to reality. But he needed to lead his uncle in the right direction, so that by the time his birthday arrived his uncle would snap, and the insanity behind the roses and candles would push everything but need and desire far from his uncle’s mind.

So he talked about the day when he would come into himself, and how certain he was that the order would be there first thing in the morning to take him away.

He talked about how he planned on running away as soon as he awoke from the inheritance-one hour after midnight- so that he could spend the rest of his holidays in hiding, away from people who would seek to hurt him.

He talked about his wealth, and his titles, and his properties, and how much he just wanted somebody to share them with- somebody he could love, and who would look after him.

He talked about many things, things that he knew would excite and inflame his uncle, and little by little he watched as the reason and sanity left his uncle’s eyes.

His uncle hadn’t been to work in days.

So now here he was on the day before his birthday, pacing in his room and thinking of his inheritance.

The dress he had chosen for today was faded and thinning- obviously an old one that Petunia had not yet thrown out. But it was Vernon’s favourite on him for obvious reasons; the holes showed a tantalising amount of skin. So Harry wore it at night time.

It was currently a quarter to midnight, and Harry hadn’t seen his uncle all day.

Everything that he had been doing,-everything he had put up with all led to this moment.

He knew what his uncle was planning on doing, but he worried over the fact that nothing had happened yet.

He hoped to Merlin, God and every other deity that he hadn’t given his uncle too much credit.

But no, he had to have faith in his plan. Even if it failed, there were always alternatives. This one just killed two birds with a more attractive stone.

So he stopped thinking about his plan, and lay down on his cot, already feeling the sapping effects of the merging. His body was feeling heavy and warm, and it felt like every hair on his body was standing straight up. The air tasted burnt and thick, coating his tongue in a slimy bitterness; but for some reason, the taste was welcome.

He felt a buzzing sensation deep in his core, and heard a bell strike twelve, most likely in the church a few streets over.

Harry blinked slowly and tried to stay awake- panicking as inertia overtook him. He couldn’t breathe anymore! He couldn’t move! He couldn’t-

 His eyes slid closed just as his uncle came into sight, smiling and carrying rope.

XxX

When Harry awoke it was exactly one hour after midnight, just as he had told his uncle.

He spent a moment staring blankly at the ceiling, trying to understand why he hurt so much, and why his hands and feet felt numb. Everything felt strange. The air was full of static, hissing and spitting, twisting in visible coils from his hair to his toes, gradually getting smaller and fading into nothingness as he became more aware. But he could still feel it, humming beneath his skin, pushing through his veins like barbed wire through molasses.

It took a little while before he came back to himself properly, but when he did the pain was glorious.

For the first time in his life, he felt like he was really, truly alive. He didn’t know what he felt before, but he knew it couldn’t have even compared to how he felt now.

Harry tried to move, so that he could assess himself more fully, but found his hands restrained. They were lubricated with something thick and viscous, but they were bound all the same.

When he tried to move his feet, he found the same thing.

It took him a while to remember, but when he did, his eyes automatically jumped around the room to search for his uncle- the man that should have been there. He looked from the door to his desk, to Hedwig’s empty cage on the wardrobe, and finally to the ground right beside him, where he was rewarded with the sight of his uncle’s head.

It was as bulbous as usual, and his skin was red and ruddy; but the eyes had filmed over with the unmistakable look of horror in death. One of them had split open, and a clear jelly-like substance was leaking out. It wasn’t attached to a body.

Harry realised what had happened to the body soon enough, when he managed to lift his head up and look himself over as much as possible. He was covered in chunks of what used to be his uncle, ranging in size from a softball to a pea. A random hand clutched his knee. There was hardly a piece of his white dress that wasn’t red now.

There was a piece of his uncle hanging from the light above his head, and Harry realised that the lubrication in the ropes holding him down was most likely his uncle’s own blood.

He felt himself gag and begin to wretch, but was amused when a raspy laugh came out instead. He had done it! He had removed his uncle and avoided his assault all at once, and he had done it legally.

He was still laughing as his door burst open and three aurors ran into the room, wands out and ends glowing red. Their cries to surrender were immediately cut off when they saw the boy bound on the bed, and the red spattered walls. It was a scene from a horror movie, though most wizards had no idea what that was.

One auror left the room, and the unmistakable sounds of vomiting could be heard coming from the hallway. Another auror stood gaping dumbly at the carnage and the last one leapt into more productive action.

“Harry Potter, you are under arrest for the murder of your muggle uncle, at 12:59 am, this 31st of July. We will escort you to the holding chambers at the ministry where you will be tried later this day in front of a full seating of the Wizengamot. You will be appointed a court ordained lawyer if you do not have one yourself. By orders of minister fudge, you are a level two threat and your wand is to be snapped upon your apprehension.”

Harry felt acutely uncomfortable. Here he was, strapped to a bed and covered in body parts, and the auror was doing nothing but talk about destroying his wand. He wasn’t worried, he knew that there would be consequences for Fudge because of this, and he knew that the wand would not accept him now anyway, but he was sticky, and the drying blood made him itch. He had a feeling that some of the blood coating the ropes was his own.

Suddenly, he was seized by a complete sense of calm. He felt his eyelids flicker and twitch, and a ball of warmth burnt to life inside of him. It spread, crackling and pulsing, to the deepest depths and furthest parts of his being, and soothed the irritation he felt. Darkness stroked his throat and kissed his forehead under the oblivious eyes of the auror, who continued to drone on about the minister’s orders.

“Auror.” Harry rasped, “I will gladly give you my wand and willingly go with you, if you would only untie me.”

The auror stopped speaking, surprised at the interruption, before he looked at Harry more closely. Somehow he had missed the ropes binding the boy, and he blushed angrily as his colleague coughed awkwardly behind him.  

With a swish of his wand and a few mumbled words, Harry was standing, albeit awkwardly; the auror had conquered a large magical chain that bound his hand and feet tightly, and he felt the already raw skin of his wrists and ankles split and bleed again.

He was still covered in blood, and when asked to remove it or fetch a change in clothing, the auror fired a weak cleaning spell at him, leaving him chunk free, but still soaked. Auror three smiled as if he had been very witty, but auror two and a recently returned auror one merely looked resigned.

Harry directed them to his wand as asked, which was under a floorboard near the cot, and watched as auror three broke it over his knee.

He felt a brief stabbing pain in his heart, and had a grief-filled moment of clarity that his wand still would have chosen him-still would have loved him- regardless of his changes. It was a horrible moment for Harry, feeling as though all the light in the world had gone out. His newly returned darkness reached to fill the void.

The minister’s mistake was larger than he knew.

But for now he merely watched as the first auror looked at him in pity and the second one looked at the third one in anger, who was wearing an inappropriate smile and snapping the wand into smaller pieces for the heck of it.

“Johnson! Stop fooling around and take him to the ministry! This is edging the finer line of protocol and you know it.” He looked around the room again with an acute expression of nausea. His eyes lingered on Vernon’s head before he rested them again on the now sullen auror.

“We need to let the others come and collect evidence and you’re contaminating the scene!”

“Fine.”

Harry was grabbed and frog walked over to the others, where they proceeded to escort him downstairs and to the entrance hall.

“Shouldn’t we- you know?

The youngest auror, the one who had thrown up, looked at Harry and gestured to his dress.

“I’ve already cleaned him up Kinney. I’m not required to do anything else except escort him to the ministry.”

“But look at what he’s got on! It can barely be called decent. It’s falling off of him! At least clean his face!”

He gestured wildly in Harry’s direction, pointing to the tears around the seams, and the thin patches, where Harry’s stomach and thighs could be seen clearly through the fabric. Harry’s face was a mask of red.

Johnson looked at the Kinney and smirked.

“I’m not one to criticize a person’s dress sense Auror Kinney.”

With an abrupt sucking noise, the portkey quill they were all holding transported them out of the Dursely’s and into the ministry.

XxX

It was 9.00 am in the morning and Harry was finally being led out of his cell and into the lower depths of the ministry where the largest trial chamber was.

He had tried to get some sleep for the hell of it, but the buzzing in his veins kept him awake.

So instead, he had spent the night meditating and trying to centre himself before the trial. He felt stronger and more aware than ever before and felt that he reflected that- beneath the blood soaked dress.

At 8.00am, a random auror had brought him some porridge and a piece of fruit, which he promptly ignored in favour of staring at the wall. It wasn’t as interesting as the one in his room, but it was more interesting than the gawking auror.

At 9.00 am, the same three aurors from his arrest showed up to escort him out, looking suitably refreshed and hopped up on pepper up potion.

The youngest one brought up the rear, and tried not to look at the hair that snaked in blackened rivulets all over the back of the dress, down past his knees and over his feet, where it brushed the floor. It was impossible not to do so. He looked like a banshee.

As they reached the doors, Harry blanked his face and let a slight tremor touch his lips, trying to calming the excited beating of his heart. It didn’t work, Harry was still trembling in anticipation, but at least it looked more like fear.

The doors swung open, and a sea of faces turned to face him. Almost immediately an outcry began.

People stood up and began pushing and shoving at each other in order to get a better look at him. A short, rotund wizard near the front was pushed into the person in front of him, who promptly turned to him and brandished his wand angrily.

It was utterly unexpected of a group of such distinguished wizards, and an obviously stupefied minister Fudge agreed, because the next thing Harry heard was his magically enhanced voice calling for order.

“Sit down people! Calm yourselves! Order, Order I say!”

One by one the wizards and odd witch sat, still throwing the odd bewildered or outraged look at Harry, who stood calmly in the doorway.

Harry was walked towards the centre of the room, where he saw the same chair from last year. This time as he sat down, the chains snaked out and held him tight, not loosening or giving way at all.

He sat tall, letting the last murmurs die down, and decided to completely break from his mask.

The tremors in his lips stopped quickly, and his shoulders squared and straightened. His eyes assessed each person quietly and cuttingly, and he let a small smile of amusement curl his lips. Only an intrigued Lucius Malfoy and a worried Dumbledore saw the rage that burnt in his eyes.

“What is the meaning of this? How dare you wear such attire to a trial for murder!”

Fudge had opened his mouth and was ripping into Harry’s choice in fashion with all the flair of a bulldog on steak. Every second sentence was demeaning and irrelevant, but Harry let him ride it out.

“Begging your pardon Minister Fudge,” Harry demurred, upon a small break in the tirade, “but if it would please you, I could give a suitable explanation?”

Fudge paused, gaping, before he gave a curt not.

“Your Aurors,” here Harry nodded towards the three Aurors that stood beside him, decidedly paler than they were before, “decided that this was adequate. I asked for a cleaner change in clothing, and this was the result.”

“But why were you wearing it in the first place?” Persisted Fudge.

Harry looked amused.

“This is a murder trial is it not? Shouldn’t that explain the blood?”

A steady ripple of sound rose in the chamber, before it was stamped out with the repeated pounding of Fudge’s gavel.

“The dress Mr Potter. Why are you wearing a dress?”

Here Harry shrugged and tilted his head.

“My uncle asked me too.”

XxX

It took a while for the trial to officially start. After it was established that Harry didn’t have a lawyer, and that _no, he didn’t want one given to him_ , the trial went underway.

Fudge looked completely ecstatic, as if all of his dreams were about to come true at once. A stoic Dumbledore sat beside him after failing to convince Harry to allow him or a different member of the order to represent him. He looked worried and betrayed, and greatly apprehensive.

Harry sat quietly in his seat, and never once so much as twitched, even when Fudge began to question him.

“Under oath of magic and after administration of Veritaserum, are you Harry James Potter, born of James Charlus Potter, and Lily Marie Potter nee Evans?”

“Yes.”

“Your date of birth is the 31st of July, year 1980?”

“Yes.”

“Your residence was-“

Suddenly Fudge began paling and wheezing. He was staring at the list of questions in his hand with an expression of panic.

“Potter! That was the 31st? Today?”

“Yes minister,” said Harry. “Today. My inheritance was this morning.”

Angry shouts began bombarding the minister, who was still staring between the paper and the boy in shock. He attempted to clear his throat, choking at the dryness. He looked desperately at the boy who looked steadily back at him, seemingly unaffected by the truth serum.

“It seems I have made a mistake in calling this trial Mr Potter. The laws regarding inheritance are very clear-“

“I understand minister.”

Harry’s voice cut across the room cleanly, and all noise died out except for his voice.

“But as is my right, I now call to move forward with this trial. I would like to resolve this cleanly.”

A blank-faced Percy Weasley strode forward to give him the antidote before Fudge could protest, acting his part as Fudge’s assistant. It seemed that he possessed the most level head of any wizard in the room, and Harry nodded to him in thanks for his rational actions and thought.

After a long, hard stare at Harry, Percy gave a deep bow in return and returned to his seat on the podium, leaving Harry inexplicably pleased and perplexed at once.

“Harry, my boy-“

“Headmaster Dumbledore, Chief Warlock, I am calling upon section twelve of the second inheritance law.”

Fudge, who had opened his mouth, closed it abruptly and looked faint. He looked around the room for support, but most of the attending members of parliament looked either agreeable or confused. Only Dumbledore’s men looked uncomfortable, but they kept their mouth shut.

Percy, who didn’t matter as anything past a scribe in this room, looked as expressionless as always.

“V-Very well. An impartial member of parliament shall be chosen to ask the required questions.  Once chosen by Mr Potter, they will either be approved or denied by myself, and we will begin. All those who deem themselves such, please stand. Please make your deductions short Mr Potter.”

Lord Diggory stood first, leaning heavily against the seat in front of him. He wore a set of earthy robes in a shade of brown that Harry remembered Cedric favouring.  He was looking at Harry with a strange expression on his face that Harry couldn’t decipher, but it made him uncomfortable.

Lords Greengrass and Malfoy stood at the same time, staring blankly at each other and then turning to the front. They were seated at opposite ends of the room, and the difference between them was amusing to Harry.

Lord Greengrass wore a pair of heavy, storm grey robes that were almost as black as his closely cropped hair. His wife had died 8 months ago, and he wore his hair short in her honour. It would be another 4 months before he could grow his hair again, or marry.

In contrast, Lord Malfoy was dressed in a silky material that floated in gentle ripples to his feet. It was a blue so pale that his hair- like Lord Greengrass- nearly faded into it, as platinum as it was. His attire was a direct contrast to the hard set of his mouth and the firmness in his stance, but Harry thought Lucius probably found irony in that.

A short wizard in plum robes smiled and bounced in place, apparently eager to be chosen. Harry thought he might be the wizard from before- the clumsy one that had fallen over.

He looked at each of them carefully, and with deliberate slowness began to speak.

“Lord Diggory. I knew your son in a personal capacity. We were competitors, then friends, and later I brought you his body. I do not believe you to be a biased person, but I ask you to stand down.”

With a quick look at Dumbledore Diggory sat down, quite obviously relieved. He kept staring at Harry though, and Harry decided to ignore it for the time being. It didn’t feel malicious.

Harry looked next at Adrian Greengrass.

“Lord Greengrass, while I know nothing of you, I am acquainted with your daughter. This acquaintance has not been a pleasure, and has in fact spawned a one-sided animosity, with her as the instigator. I hold nothing against you, but as this is a trial for murder-“

Harry’s eyes gleamed,

“-As this is a trial for murder, I have to take precautions. Please stand down.”

Lord Greengrass did so, quietly comparing the well-spoken enigma in front of him to the boorish, rowdy boy his oldest daughter had described. They were nothing alike, and he wondered if this was a recent development, or if his daughter had been so easily fooled. Such composure from a child on trial for the murder of his own uncle was astonishing and worthy of respect on its own.

He would have to investigate the matter further, and properly address the issue with his daughter. Perhaps his youngest had observed something Daphne had not. Maybe he had underestimated his other daughter as well.

Harry meanwhile continued to look at the remaining wizards. He calmly asked the one in purple to seat himself, on the grounds that he knew nothing about him. He ignored Dumbledore’s pointed looks and turned to look at Lucius Malfoy.

Lucius POV

Black eyes blazed at him from a sheet of red.

He felt his tongue stick to the roof of his suddenly dry mouth, but he ignored it. The eyes burning into him were horribly familiar; every inch of him screamed at him to move, to do something, to bow down and beg for something indefinable.  For a brief second, he had no idea why the people around him were just sitting there when this being sat calmly only a few meters away, but he grabbed a hold of himself, and with his rigid control, he made sure that no one saw his brief moment of panic.

The amusement in black eyes told him not everyone was fooled and when the boy spoke, his voice was carried to his ears only, laced with magic and surprising dignity.

“Lord Malfoy. You command a lot of respect, all of which you have earned. One day, you and your son will know me as you should.”

Now his voice carried to the rest of the hall, leaving Lucius to wrestle his sudden feelings of yearning into submission.

“I choose Lord Malfoy to be the neutral representative. His family is known for their honour of tradition. Do you accept, Lord Malfoy?”

Once again, Lucius was speared by black eyes, and it was with a mostly steady voice that he answered.

“If Minister Fudge is agreeable, than I accept. So mote it be.”

In his seat, Dumbledore turned grey in horror.


	6. Blink twice

**Authors Note:** _I listen to music when I write, so if I haven’t deleted all of the lyrics I inadvertently typed, sorry. Also, I do not have a beta, and am not an expert at law._

**Warnings:** _This chapter contains a shoddily written trial and minor mentions of abuse._

**Disclaimer:** _I do not own Harry Potter._

Harry was still seated at the front of the chamber ready to be tried, but in the 40 minutes since his announcement and Fudge’s stuttering acceptance of Lucius as a mediator, some changes had been made.

 The chains that had held him in place no longer did. Instead, a horrified Fudge had been escorted down to the chamber’s floor, where an identical chair had been made for him beside Harry. Fudge was held in place by chains of his own, and was alternating between looking beseechingly at the wizards before him and Harry’s old chains, which seemed to nudge closer when he wasn’t looking.

Lucius sat where the Minister had sat, and looked very comfortable. Beside him Dumbledore seemed to be trying to talk to him, but Lucius ignored him and cleared his throat as he stood up; one hand on an old copy of the Wizengamot’s main law book.

“My fellow Witches and Wizards. Today we bare witness- not to a trial for murder as we had expected- but perhaps something worse.

The laws of inheritance are very clear in our society. A wizard’s magical merging is the most defining event in our lives. We become not just men, or women, but a person.

Our inheritance is a time of pure magic. Our experiences, persona and blood guide and shape us, sinking into us and birthing us anew. Sometimes, we are blessed by Magic.

After an inheritance, it is generally accepted that the follies made in youth are forgotten, and new alliances can be made of old enemies. Friendships may be ruined; new ones formed. We are given a completely new slate as an entirely new person. That in itself is magic.

The second Inheritance Law states as follows:

The inheritance of a well-blooded magus must not be disturbed or interfered with in any manner.

As Mr Potter is not a muggleborn, this law indeed applies to him.

Section twelve of this law states,

If a witch or wizard has been incorrectly charged with actions of an illegal nature pertaining to the period of their inheritance, the magus is within their rights to perform any of the following actions:

  1. Have the charges dismissed immediately. Any record of such charges is to be removed.
  2. Demand reparations. The actions of merging magi are beyond reproach or law. Legal action contradicting this is a defamation of the accused’s character.
  3. Allow the trial to progress.



Mr Potter has invoked the third clause.

For those of our illustrious Wizengamot that are not aware of what this entails, allow me to elaborate before we begin.

Firstly, no matter what is revealed during this trial, Mr Potter will not face any convictions; however, I am sure Mr Potter is aware that though his actions will not be held legally against him, what is revealed here may affect his personal or business interactions with the people baring witness to them.

As well as continuing the trial, Mr Potter is given the liberty to ask Minister Fudge any questions from a set list, and one of his own design with no set subject.

To those of you whom believe that Mr Potter is being given liberties beyond his right, remember the reason we are here today.

If minister Fudge is found guilty of interfering with Mr Potter’s merging, a separate, formal trial will be held for him at a later date.

Now, gentle witches and wizards, let us begin.”

Lucius walked around the podium, and descended down the steps with purposeful strides. He stopped in front of Harry and paused to give Fudge a contemptuous glance before clearing his throat and calling for Percy to administer the Veritaserum again, both to Harry and Fudge.

Once they were suitably drugged, he began.

“For the second time, under oath of magic and after administration of Veritaserum, are you Harry James Potter, born of James Charlus Potter, and Lily Marie Potter nee Evans?”

“Yes.”

“Your date of birth is the 31st of July, year 1980?”

“Yes.”

“Your residence is number four, privet drive of England?”

“Yes.”

“Then we may proceed. Mr Potter, on the 31st of July at 12.59 pm, where were you?”

“I was in my room at the Durselys.”

“And what were you doing Mr Potter?”

“I was going through my inheritance.”

“Are you aware that your uncle was killed at that time, allegedly by yourself?”

“Yes. I knew he would be.”

Lucius paused, giving him a slow look, before continuing.

“You knew? How did you know he would die- surely your magic would have accepted him as safe?”

“As soon as I learnt about inheritances, I knew that I should not be near my family while going through it. There is no way my magic ever would have accepted him as safe, or even tolerable.”

“Why is that Mr Potter? I need definite facts in order to dismiss this from being the angst of youth.”

Harry said nothing, looking blankly into space. Lucius felt a shiver of something indefinable run down his spine, but he persisted.

“Mr Potter, answer the question.”

Harry continued to look into nothing as he answered.

“Up until I was eleven, I lived in a cupboard under the stairs. This was in spite of the two spare rooms available.”

Once again the room began buzzing. Albus sat ramrod straight in his seat and ignored every attempt to talk to him; he didn’t like where this was going.

“When I was three, my Aunt spread rumours of my mental instability in order to nip any sympathisers to my future abuse in the bud. She never hit me. She never even touched me. It was my uncle that took care of everything when I was little. She did however, verbally terrorize and mislead me for the entirety of my life.

As soon as my cousin could walk and talk, he was antagonistic towards me. When he grew older, he founded a sport called ‘harry hunting’ in which he and his friends would chase and beat me. This only stopped once I began Hogwarts. My uncle and aunt both ignored this and in fact, encouraged it on the occasions when I bested Dudley in school or sport.”

He stopped again, and a steadily disillusioned Lucius addressed him.

“Mr Potter. You are here for the murder of your uncle. We need explicit facts concerning him in order to explain the hostility your magic exhibited.”

Harry’s fingers twitched and clenched into fists, but his voice was as neutral as it was before.

“My uncle transferred his lust for my mother over onto me. And then it grew. He exhibited inappropriate sexual behaviours towards me as a child, and then this summer, he sent my Aunt and Cousin away and bade me dress in women’s clothing where he began to court me as one would a woman. He wanted to engage in a sexual relationship.”

Lucius temporarily forgot how to speak. The entire room behind him had exploded into shouts and exclamations of shock, while Harry sat there calmly, awaiting more questions.

Dumbledore was staring desperately at Harry, hoping he wouldn’t reveal his involvement in it. He was sure Harry didn’t know, but things were going so array he couldn’t be sure of anything. He hadn’t known that Vernon had done that. He knew Harry was being mistreated- perhaps hit- but sexually abused? Never.

Hadn’t Petunia put a stop to it? Did she know? He felt a twinge in his heart he hadn’t felt since young Tom was at school. He had gambled with Harry’s childhood, but apparently Vernon had been playing a different game.

Dumbledore looked closely at Harry, trying to see anything in his features that might show how it had affected him, but the blood covered every inch of him. He was very thin, but he had always been thin. He would have to see later, once he had been cleaned.

For now, Dumbledore settled for reasoning his guilt away.

 “Mr Potter. Considering the state of your family relations, why did you return there when you knew what might happen?”

“My magical guardian refused to listen to me, and sent me there as he did every summer.”

Lucius frowned tightly and tapped his cane slightly.

“If I was able to ask who your guardian was Mr Potter, I would. But the laws regarding guardians are almost as strict as the inheritance laws, so I shall let that rest for now.

Concerning the issue of Mr Potter’s murder of his uncle Vernon Dursely I find him not guilty. His proximity to the family was not under his control, neither was the negative blood between them. Do any in this court disagree?”

Almost half raised their hands, though they looked disgusted at what they had heard, but Lucius gave a tiny smirk that none but a vacant Harry saw.

“Mr Potter, I deem you not Guilty of the Murder of Vernon Dursely. Regardless of what happened and why, it happened during your inheritance and by default, you are not guilty. If this had happened at any other time as a result of instinctive magic, you would most likely have been convicted of involuntary manslaughter.  You would have received a prison sentence, but no kiss. Obviously, you have a great link with your magic.

Mr Weasley, the antidote please?”

As Percy walked forward to administer the antidote, Lucius considered what he had heard. There was a reason why Potter simply hadn’t simply called for the trial to be dismissed and he could think of a few reasons why.

The entire dark side believed that Potter lived a bedazzled life. Draco had convinced him that Potter was an arrogant up-start blind to anything truly magical, and he had believed him. Even a usually observant Severus had constantly talked about him, bubbling with spite and hate as he sat with Lucius in the drawing room.

When Lucius had first met him in the bookstore, he had seen a small child with a thin face and bony limbs, but he hadn’t even considered a less than perfect home life. To think his uncle had done that-

Lucius had seriously misjudged the boy, and he knew that Severus would be in a very chaotic state of mind right now. He could see him up in the stands, thin lipped and even paler than usual. He was sitting in the Prince seat, as he had ever since his Grandfather had died; Lucius wondered what Severus thought of the boy’s bloody appearance, let alone the dress.

Everything he had known about the boy had been thrown into a tailspin. Was the boy making a statement by letting this become public? If so, to whom? Not only that, but he had known about the specifics of the laws. What else did Potter know that he shouldn’t?

He recalled the dark glint to Potter’s eyes, and how black they had become. He remembered the paralysis he had felt, and the ache that had built when Potter looked away.

 There was something very different about Potter; He could not afford to misjudge him any longer.

XxX

To the mixed relief and disgruntlement of the court, it was discovered that Minister Fudge had not intentionally interfered with the merging.

It had been discovered however, that he had designated Mr Potter as a level two threat when there were no appropriate reasons for doing so. He had wanted the public to side with him again over his quick action in the instance of Mr Potter being convicted for something, which he was sure would happen.

He would have to compensate Mr Potter for both the wand, and the trial, and both would nearly bankrupt him. Even under the veritaserum he looked unhappy.

Now, it was time for Harry to ask his extra question of Mr Fudge, and everybody in the court looked curious as to what would be asked. He was allowed to ask anything- a small compensation for the potential humiliation and ramifications of the trial.

Harry stood quietly, a pensive look on his face, before speaking in a loud voice to the watching aristocrats.

“Many people have wronged me in this lifetime, even in the wizarding world- though it may surprise you to hear.”

He gave a quick flash of white teeth.

“But despite all of this, I love being a wizard. I love magic, I love our communities, and I love its people. I could ask Mr Fudge one of many questions pertaining to myself, or even humiliate him if I was so inclined. But as one of you- a member of our great people- I feel it is my duty to ask him a question that benefits all of us. We need a leader that inspires and guides us. One that understands the honour of being our leader.

Minister Fudge-“

Here he turned to look gently at the wizard.

“-have you ever put the Wizarding community at serious risk for your own gain?

The room was silent as the grave as Fudge slowly turned purple; his lips shook and lost colour as they opened to reply.

“Yes. Many times.”

Harry stepped back to his seat and sat down as Fudge was given the antidote and panic overtook him.

Fudge began shouting and tried to lunge at him, but the chains still held him in place. He was screaming insensible things at Harry, but Harry ignored him and studied his nails. They were covered in blood-as was the rest of him- but it was flaking everywhere. He was beyond itchy and irritable now, and stood up again as soon as Lucius had finished his statement of an upcoming inquiry into Fudge’s affairs.

“Minister, I will be frank with you. You have enough stress now as it is without me stripping you of everything you own. I will lift that requirement of today’s ruling if you grant me a boon in the future.”

Fudge was speechless and began turning purple again, so Harry cut in quickly.

“I am not a heartless person, and I know you have a wife and son to support. They have a lifestyle that they have become accustomed to. I have to take something from you, or the public will rage even harder against you.

You know I am not a cruel person. Impulsive and sometimes stupid, but not cruel. You can trust me to do the right thing. I know you were only doing your job as Minister.”

He was whispering to Fudge by this point, and none but Fudge and Lucius could hear him. He had a feeling Dumbledore could too, but he didn’t really care.

Fudge had slowly calmed down, and was his normal pasty self. He looked at Harry sceptically, before turning to Lucius.

“Lucius, what do you think?”

Usually Lucius would have told Fudge not to take the deal, that he would keep his family afloat until they were stable again, but Potter was looking at him; any thought of what advantage the light side might have flew out of his head at the cruelty and mirth in Potter’s eyes.

Slowly he nodded, and agreed with Potter’s logic.

Fudge let out a shaky sigh and agreed, flinching as a band of white magic snapped into place around his neck and disappeared.

The rest of the people in the chamber were confused, but a few bright people had guessed what had happened. Dumbledore was pensive, but pleased that Harry was still the kind boy he had been.

Lucius’ agreement concerned him though, but he would think on that later.

Right now, the court was emptying of people, and he needed to get to Harry and convince him to go to Grimmalud place. He saw Snape slice through the crowd and push through the door, but knew he had probably gone to brood, or ruminate on what he had learnt. Harry was still Lilly’s child after all.

The listening charm he had placed on Harry was disrupted by so many people breaking the direct line of sight between him and the boy, so he began to move faster.

He saw Harry shake Fudge’s hand and say something to Lucius, who turned a whiter shade than his usual pale. He didn’t want Harry making the man mad- who knew what would happen- but he admired the boy’s ability to bounce back from a stressful situation and address the enemy in short order. He hurried closer, and arrived in time to hear the last of the conversation. By this time, the minister had already left, most likely to salvage what little reputation he had left in front of the press.

“-Careful where you tread.”

Lucius looked at him and nodded minutely, before stalking off in the graceful glide only a Malfoy and Severus could emulate.

He looked at Harry who was inspecting his nails again, and gave a mental sigh.

_ Flashback _

_Harry looked at Lucius with a neutral expression._

_“Be sure to say hello to Mr Riddle for me, would you Lucius. Tell him I hope the day finds him in good health._

_Lucius went pale and felt his indignation edge on anger, but a quick smile from Potter stopped it._

_“This is not in jest, Lord Malfoy. He should be feeling more alive today than he ever has since he…disappeared. Give him my greetings.”_

_Lucius didn’t fully understand, but the serious set to Potter’s face convinced him not to make this a spectacle. There was something very different about Potter, and it made him almost trust him- which was all sorts of wrong. A Malfoy trusted no one but family and surprisingly, the dark lord. The horrible yearning he felt whenever near Potter had not lessened and it was this ache that made him anxious._

_He saw Dumbledore coming over Potter’s shoulder, and gave a quick reply._

_“When I visit with Mr Riddle next, I will pass on your sentiments. I would think you foolish Mr Potter, if I hadn’t seen something in you today that I never have. Be careful where you tread. “_

_He saw Dumbledore’s perplexed expression and gave a slight nod of farewell, leaving bewildered and hollow when he had entered expectant._

_ End Flashback _

XxX

Harry stood in line for one of the ministry floo portals. Beside him was Dumbledore, who had given up on trying to get him to talk.

Harry had refused a cleaning charm, and insisted on waiting until he could have a shower at Grimmauld before removing the blood. He found amusement in the terrified looks of the people who had no idea who he was, or why he was covered in blood. A few people who did know gave him pitying looks, but he would show them later that pity was not what he needed.

Lucius stood with Professor Snape a couple of hearths over, and both were staring at him blankly.  He gave them his own blank stare, and ignored Dumbledore’s rambling to ignore them and keep his cool. He had no intention of doing anything rash, and Dumbledore would soon learn that he never would again.

Both of them stepped up to the floo at the same time, and it was Snape that turned to take the floo powder. As he did Harry smirked slightly and in one quick movement, pierced Lucius’s magic with his own.

It was a surprised Lucius and a startled Snape that fell into the fire, twirling away in a whoosh of green flames to wherever they were going.

Hopefully Lucius was having fun.


	7. Flesh coloured clothing

**Authors Note:** _I know I wanted the pairing with Harry to be fresh, but I keep thinking of someone who is rather cliché; a favourite of mine. My other two stories are definitely going to be unusual pairings, but it doesn’t look like this one will be. Who knows? My moods influence my stories. What do you guys want?_

**Warnings:** _I don’t know. An annoying Order of the Phoenix?_

**Disclaimer:** _I do not own Harry Potter._

 

“Lucius!”

Lucius- who usually glided out of the floo as if he had not previously been spinning rapidly from house to house- had emerged from the fire and immediately fallen in a crumpled heap to the floor.

“Father?”

Snape rolled Lucius over and straightened his limbs out manually. All rudimentary diagnosis spells he knew showed that nothing was wrong with him physically or mentally, but his core had been overloaded with magic.

Draco knelt beside his father, panic splashed boldly across his face.

“What’s wrong with him Professor? What happened?

Snape was still checking Lucius over with swift hands and wand, but could find no real reason for the paralysis. Unless…

Tentatively he reached his magic out to mingle with Lucius’ and almost groaned at the gaping void where his defences should be. He prayed for his friend’s forgiveness, and gingerly searched a bit further. He felt Lucius’ magic spread and open for him easily and followed the path cleared for him, tracking the silvery mist cautiously. Lucius’ magic was heavy with Dark magic, but there was something very different about it.

He felt his own magic trying to crawl frantically towards it, and it took a vast amount of effort from Severus to bring it back to a level he could control. He was beginning to feel rather odd, and quickly began pulling his magic back into himself.

The faster he tried to leave Lucius’ core, the stranger he felt, until suddenly he couldn’t move. Something black flashed in the pale mist, and without warning, he was completely enveloped in something foreign and very, very dangerous.

This was the presence that had been lurking around in Lucius’ core, and abruptly Severus knew with deep clarity why Lucius was the way he was.

The blackness moved slowly over him, writhing and pulsating, teasing him. It reached into every part of him, deep into his soul, and cleansed him with burning fire. His magic mixed with the intruder, and he felt unexpectedly and completely at peace. Nothing from his past was here to haunt him. His future wasn’t bleak and dire. He simply was.

He spent a lifetime being one with the darkness, until he remembered what he was meant to be doing. He sensed a sliver of reluctant understanding, before he began carefully pulling completely into himself. A last tendril of darkness brushed his hair and face, before letting him leave completely.

He felt very alone.

“-erus! Severus!”

Draco was standing between him and Lucius, shaking his shoulder frantically.

He stood, brushing Draco’s hands from his shoulders, and looked deeply at Lucius’ face. It was the most peaceful it had been in years.

“Draco. Calm down.”

Draco stopped speaking at once, and gave Severus his full attention.

“Your father will be fine. It appears that sometime between stepping into the floo and leaving it, he has been dosed with an unadulterated shot of pure black magic.”

Draco’s stared incredulously at his professor, before turning to his father.

The Malfoy family had always been sensitive to dark magic; the oldest Malfoy ancestor had been born with the talent, and eventually it had evolved into a family trait. It was why the Malfoys would always be loyal to the dark. 

At times it could be a curse though. One of his great uncles had been surprised on the battlefield when the very Lord he supported sent a towering blast of his magic out to debilitate the light side. He had been debilitated too, and for far longer. He had been beheaded from behind.

They were bound to the darkness as their eternal sovereign. And the dark lord was as dark as any wizard ever was. But this…

“Severus?”

Severus shook his head. No, it was not the Dark Lord’s work. Whatever he had felt within the darkness was not something the dark lord was capable of. The power maybe, but the emotions…

“Pardon me Professor, but did you say _black_ magic?”

XxX

When Harry stepped out of the fireplace at Grimmauld Place, he was greeted with the image of Molly Weasley hurrying forward to heave him to her bosom and break his ribs in a hug, only to swerve to the side at the last moment and stare at him in shock.

The rest of the people present in the lounge did the same-Weasleys, Granger and professors all- struck dumb by his appearance; it wasn’t until Dumbledore stepped through a moment later that the silence broke in a tumultuous wave of sound and movement.

“Dumbledore, what in the Devil-? “

“Is that Potter-? “

“Blood! Blood everywhere!”

Without supervision, the white pieces in a chess game were scurrying to the edges of the side table, trying to find a way down.

Dumbledore held one hand up, and all conversation stopped.

“I’m sure young Harry is tired after his very trying ordeal. He was found innocent as a matter of course, and was let off with no restrictions or consequences; I’m sure after he has cleaned up a little, and had a little nap, he will answer any questions we may have.”

Harry was breathing deeply, counting to one hundred in his head. He had nearly started to question his decision to come here, before he remembered that he had no idea how much was truly in the Potter vault, or if he had any properties. He had been denied that information previously, and the only compromise he had gotten from the Goblins was that they wouldn’t tell Dumbledore that he had been asking things he shouldn’t have.

The Goblins knew more than they should have- more than wizards gave them credit for. Harry respected the strength of their business sense and integrity, but granted if he didn’t want to strangle the little bastards sometimes.

Still, he counted slowly as he watched the order settle down at Dumbledore’s words.

He was the last heir of a Noble and Ancient house; unless something had gone terribly wrong, he would have the resources he needed. But for now, he would have to contend with the order and their interference.

Also, he really wanted a shower, and this place had 6 bathrooms.

“Headmaster Dumbledore. If it isn’t too much of an inconvenience, I would like to be shown to my room now.”

Dumbledore stopped placating the order and turned to Harry with a contrite look on his face.

“Of course my dear boy! Listen to me, waffling on. Molly, will you show Harry to his room? You know the one.”

Harry watched curiously as Molly nodded swiftly, walking past Harry and down the hall without saying a word. He followed swiftly; amused at the way she kept her eyes averted from his red dress.

What he was not amused at was the door they stopped in front of.

“Why are we here Mrs Weasley? This is Sirius’ room.”

Molly kept her eyes averted as she answered, twisting the hem of her dress in her hands reluctantly.

“We all decided Ron should have his own room this time; we thought you wouldn’t mind. He’s so cramped at home, and then again at school. It’s a nice break for him to have his own space…and isn’t it nice to sleep where Sirius slept? You’ll feel closer to him dear. It’ll help with your grief.”

Harry didn’t think it was nice. He thought it was tactless.

He said nothing though, and simply stepped inside, closing the door on Molly’s gaping face.

There were 14 rooms at Grimmauld Place. He had no idea why they thought placing him here was the best idea, but he would be the bigger person and deal with it. If asked a day or two ago, Harry might have said he was hurt that they were quite obviously separating him from Ron- perhaps suspicious, maybe thankful- but now, Harry didn’t dwell on it. A bigger issue was currently making his skin itch and flaking on the carpet.

He sighed and stripped gladly out of the dress, slinging it to the floor as he walked to the connecting bathroom. He was thankful that Sirius’ room- the main suite- had its own bathroom; he supposed that was a silver lining.

Unlike the bedroom- which was decorated in handsome shades of green and grey, strewn with lush throws and dotted with decadent furniture- the bathroom was simple and serene. It was furnished with white marble and gold trimming, and everything gleamed and sparkled.

Harry could see his reflection in almost every surface; it was surreal- he felt like a red ghost passing through snow. He laughed bitterly, and heard his voice reflect back at him in a relay of self-loathing and liberation.

When he turned it on, the shower was the perfect temperature and strength. It lashed at his skin forcefully, a burning, near boiling temperature that washed the blood and stress away.

He scrubbed at his hair with determined fingers, scowling as they got tangled in the long strands. He had to stoop over to clean the ends, honestly shocked by the heaviness of his hair.

It took a good forty minutes before he was satisfied that the blood and sweat had left every crevice of his person. His hair had been washed thrice, twice with a normal shampoo, and once with a creamy formula he had found that smelt like mint.  He spent a second trying to remember if Sirius had smelt like mint, before letting it go.

When he turned the shower off, he felt trepidation scuttle down his back like a reluctant spider.

What would he see when he looked in the mirror?

He searched around for a towel for a minute or two, before cutting his losses and letting himself air dry. The steam was gradually dissipating, and the mirrors were beginning to clear; he found himself standing in front of the largest one- the length of an entire wall- before he realised he had moved.

From the large blurred image, he could see that he was tall and thin. But he had already been tall and thin, and that wasn’t a surprise to him.

As the steam cleared, and his reflection began to piece itself together, he felt himself staring at the fractured pieces of a man.

Falling down to the ground in thick, black curls was his hair. It was so dark it shone blue, and so long it hurt his neck. His body had retained its definition, but had become more sharp and slender. He had lost the pinkness in his cheeks, and was so pale he could see the blue of his veins running up and down his body.

His face was refined and elegant- more noble than it had been before- with a strong jaw, and high cheekbones. He felt a bewildered pang of loss at his birth mark, which had been a smattering of freckles along his hip bone, but ignored it in order to focus on the most prominent change.

His eyes were large and heavy lidded, framed by thick, black eyelashes and rimmed by dark circles.

They weren’t green anymore.

He leaned closer to the mirror, inspecting them closely, when he noticed a couple of things.

Firstly, his eyes were black. They weren’t dark brown, or dark grey, or dark green- they were as black as ink; he couldn’t separate the pupil from the iris. He tried to find any trace of his mother’s eyes, but couldn’t. Even the shape had changed.

Secondly, as he stood back from the mirror and gave himself another cursory look over, he realised that he wasn’t wearing his glasses. His uncle Vernon had bought him a cheap pair of glasses during the holidays, with a delicate silver frame that he had quite liked and his uncle had found charming- but having no glasses at all was much better. He could move and act as he wished now, without having to consider the likelihood of needing a reparo spell.

He looked nothing like either one of his parents. His height could possibly be attributed to his father, but he could find no trace of Lily.

He didn’t mind. He didn’t know them. They were abstract ideas he had toyed with as a child.

He supposed he should be thankful that they loved him enough to die for him, but he felt enough hatred over how the Dursleys had treated him to not care all that much. He used to feel guilty for his lack of proper appreciation and mourning, but now he just accepted it. He felt this way-he couldn’t change it. They were strangers to him.

Strangers he respected and appreciated, but strangers.

Harry looked at himself, and saw pain in his sharp edges, darkness in his eyes, and each lie he had lived in the spindly length of his fingers. He knew why he looked this way, but he hoped Dumbledore thought only of his experiences, and not his thoughts.

The people of Wizarding Britain would excuse his appearance. The trial would be leaked, he had no doubt, and they would convince themselves he had been irrevocably stained by his family.

_He would have had his father’s broad build and fearless smile_

_He would have had his mother’s sweet laugh_

_He would have had the Potter family’s olive skin or Lily’s blushing cheeks_

_He would have looked the part- a hero_

_If only…_

They would form their reasons, based on a conclusion that had already been made.

 Harry Potter didn’t look like Harry Potter anymore.

At least the trial would give them an excuse to keep him on a pedestal. For as long as it took for them to change their minds this time anyway.

Harry shook his head wryly. He couldn’t do much about the opinions of strangers, or friends. What he could do, was put on clothing.

He left the bathroom and looked around for a wardrobe. He found it, but when he looked inside, he saw that the clothing had all been destroyed. Moths had eaten a few, but the majority had been ripped and shredded either by hand, tool or spell, and Harry had a feeling he knew who had done it.

“Kreature!”

With a nearly silent crack, a suspicious Kreature popped into view. He looked around the room with an expression of acute hatred, before settling his gaze on Harry.

At first, he looked like he was going to pop away, or mutter his usual obscenities. Harry certainly didn’t think he would actually help him. But as soon as the house elf looked into his eyes, he stopped sneering and actually began to choke.

Harry didn’t help him- this elf had indirectly led to the death of Sirius- but he found no pleasure in the creatures suffering. Harry had also contributed to Sirius’ death, and he had managed to forgive himself; he would give the elf a chance, just like he would Snape, Dumbledore and if applicable, even Bellatrix.

Of course, Dumbledore had a lot more to answer for than ignoring him for an entire year. Harry remembered the man in the purple suit. He remembered the care workers that showed up once, and then never again. He remembered bright lights and soft words:

_Obliviate_

In contrast, Bellatrix had done nothing to him.

Eventually Kreature started breathing again, coughing intermittently as he took deep stuttering breaths. He looked up at Harry and swayed slightly; Harry saw that his eyes were moist.

Eventually the elf spoke, croaking quietly but clearly. His tone was reverant.

“Kreature is being very surprised, but most happy to serve the Master. What does Master want from Kreature?”

Harry stared at the elf, thinking carefully over what had just been said.

Sirius had been Lord Black, and never had Kreature acted like this towards him. His title of Lord Potter had not yet been instated, and even if it had, it would have no bearing on the black household.

He felt a creeping suspicion come over him.

“Kreature, who is Lord Black?”

Kreature looked surprised.

“There is being no Lord Black at the moment. But master will be, once he sees those nasty Goblins.”

Harry’s surprise and anger must have shown quite blatantly on his face.

“Tricksy Dumbledore has not told master? The filthy mudblood lover knew, oh yes he did. He talked to the one-eyed traitor about it. Has master not received a summons?”

No, Harry had not. Just like he had not received a summons for his own inheritance, or mail from his friends. Harry had the horrible feeling that somebody had placed a redirection ward on him- he would bet money that it was Dumbledore.

Logic said it was Voldemort, or another member of the dark order, but instinct and experience screamed otherwise.

He looked at Kreature who was watching him patiently, and decided to think on it more later.

“I need clothing Kreature. I was supplied with none, and the clothing I had planned to wear has been shredded. Do you know where I can get some?”

Kreature nodded eagerly, flushing heavily when Harry gestured to the tattered remains of his Godfather’s old clothing. He popped out without saying anything, and then popped back a second later. In his hands he held a pile of clothing that Harry took from him and laid gently on the bed.

There were only a couple of sets, but Harry could see that all pieces were of good quality. They were old, but all had a timeless design that Harry quite liked.

He chose the second outfit, a set of black slacks and a grey silk dress shirt. He forwent underwear, and threw a light robe over it, which was a grey two shades darker than his shirt. They were comfortable and easy to move in, which Harry appreciated. They also fit him very well, and when asked, Kreature confirmed that he had altered them magically.

Kreature also told him that the clothing used to belong to his Master Regulus, and that he had put the rest of it in Harry’s wardrobe.

Harry appreciated the attention to detail, and told that to a pleased Kreature. The elf also offered to do something about his hair, which Harry agreed to swiftly.

Harry was made to sit cross legged on the bed, with his back to Kreature. The elf hovered around him, directing magic to the thick locks, and muttering to himself.

It was soothing to Harry, who was rarely touched in a positive manner, and had never had his hair cut in his life. It was a Potter trait to have hair that rarely grew, and Harry was thankful that it had changed for him. He had hated the way his hair had fallen; obstructing his vision and making him look unruly. That was the way a Gryffindor was meant to look he supposed, but even his alter ego had hated it.

Eventually, Kreature stepped back and confirmed that he had finished, and Harry made his way to the mirror on the far wall. His neck wasn’t aching anymore, which was a good thing, but Harry was worried it might be too short again.

He needn’t have worried. If ever Harry had felt vain it was now.

His hair fell somewhere between his shoulders and his elbows, and had been tied back in a low ponytail with a silver ribbon. A few curls framed his face and brushed his chin and collarbone, but Harry liked it.

He felt like he wasn’t trapped in his own skin anymore. He finally felt like the person in the mirror wasn’t a stranger. It was a good feeling- a liberating feeling- and Harry his magic spark and crackle in agreement.

He turned and smiled a tiny smile at Kreature, who looked faint, and popped abruptly away.

It didn’t matter, Harry would find out the secret behind Kreature’s compliance in due time. He certainly hadn’t been this accommodating to Sirius after all.

For now, Harry gave his bed a cursory glance, shook his head, and decided not to sleep.

He knew he would crash and burn later tonight, but as of right now, he was overloaded with energy. It would be easier to get the order’s reactions and questions out of the way sooner rather than later, and then he could settle down and examine himself more thoroughly.

He’d leave the more serious thoughts and information until after he had rested well and was able to think straight.

XxX

Downstairs, Harry heard the Order before he saw them. They had congregated in the kitchen where Molly was serving a late lunch, and were gathered around the kitchen table.

Snape was sitting reluctantly beside an energetic Hermione, whom was questioning Dumbledore extensively on the trial.

Harry stepped in when she began to speculate on why the Lucius had been chosen as a mediator, and cleared his throat.

At first nobody heard him, but eventually, Snape, and then Dumbledore saw him at the door.

“Harry my boy, come in! Make room for him please, move over, I’m sure he’s still very tired.”

Harry wondered if Dumbledore thought he had actually napped in the hour or so he had been upstairs, but decided not to dwell on it.

He sat next to a quiet Ron, and faced the rest of the assembled order with a blank expression.

He could see his appearance reflected in their eyes. He was pale and dark and strange, dressed in finery he had never bothered with before.

He saw the doubt seep into their mind- the caution putting walls in place. Hermione looked perplexed.

“There were questions, Headmaster?” he asked, putting his chin in one hand.

Dumbledore smiled a grand smile and let his eyes twinkle ferociously.

“Where did you get that clothing my boy? I’ve never seen you in anything like it.”

Harry sighed.

“All the Minister first focused on was my clothing; now you. Is it really that important?”

Beside him, Ron snorted. Harry could see a smirk curl his lips gently, and Harry wondered how much of Ron’s inheritance he had been blind to. How much he had changed internally.

Dumbledore merely smiled wider.

“Of course not my dear boy, I was just indulging an old man’s curiosity. We shall move on to more pertinent matters then, if it pleases you?”

Harry could see the slight hunch to Dumbledore’s back and the dimming of his eyes. He could see the way the order had begun to look at him with subtle disapproval and Dumbledore with concern.

Snape looked fascinated by the whole thing.

“Of course Headmaster Dumbledore; I did just kill my uncle after all.”

Those who had not known the details, which was most of the newly arrived order, began screaming. At Harry, at Dumbledore- a few brandished their wands at Snape.

Harry said nothing and merely looked steadily at Dumbledore, who gazed at the order with disapproval and called loudly for order. It took three tries with a sonorous charm before everyone was back in their seats, wands away and hands far away from the rather sharp cutlery.

Dumbledore heaved a heavy sigh and addressed everybody rather shortly.

“Mr Potter went through his inheritance this morning and his uncle was killed as a result. He is not to blame, and was a victim of his circumstances. You will stop whatever ill thoughts you are having about him right now, and listen to what he has to say.”

Finally, the order was truly settling back down, relaxing a little bit more and chatting quietly amongst themselves.

A few were looking at Harry and trying to think of what his uncle- his own flesh and blood- had done that was bad enough to be killed for, especially by instinctive magic. None of their conclusions were good, and they looked at Harry’s new appearance with less suspicion and more pity.

Harry ignored them, and focused more on the white knuckled grip of Ron on his chair, and the venomous look Snape was directing towards the headmaster. Both were interesting reactions, and both were unexpected.

Hermione was also displaying an unexpected emotion, and hers left a bitter taste in his mouth. He had allowed himself to hope- once he had learned that his mail was being redirected-that Hermione and Ron had written, and he had simply not received the letters. He was still unsure about both of them, but Hermione was making it hard to think well of her.

She was sitting stock still in her seat, staring at Harry. Her face was red and blotchy, and she looked like she was about to start yelling regardless of what the headmaster had said. She looked horrified, which Harry could excuse, but beneath the surface, Harry’s magic showed him what he needed to see.

She was revolted and upset- not at what his uncle might have done, but at Harry’s _lack of control._

She felt superior, as if this event proved something she had thought, or hoped for, and most of all, she felt very, very bitter.

It had never occurred to Harry that Hermione had not been one of the one in a hundred muggleborns that were gifted with a Wizarding core, instead of being bound to the earth. He had never even considered that she had not received an inheritance. She was so intelligent it had seemed like a magical gift, and everybody had simply assumed…

It was why Cormac McLaggen, a pureblood, had been so interested in her. Muggleborns with a core weren’t mudbloods- they were as good as any other half or full blooded wizard. They could function properly in Wizarding society without stigma. They could marry whomever they chose, even purebloods.

They were newbloods.

Despite schoolyard name calling there were only two types of wizards- wizards with magical cores, and wizards who leached magic from the earth- mudbloods.  Harry knew this- he had read it and understood it- but had kept quiet. Harry the golden boy would never know about something like that.

He felt his magic quiver, and quickly pulled it back. He collapsed tiredly into his chair, and leaned his head against the back of the seat.

Ron reached out a large hand and squeezed his forearm gently, leaving his hand in place as a warm, reassuring weight.

 Harry wished he could read Ron’s intentions, but he had no idea how he had done it in the first place, and judging by the grey tinge to his vision and the numbness in his limbs, he knew that it wasn’t something he should do very often. Still, Ron’s behaviour was strange; but not unwelcome.

Snape was looking at Harry carefully, and Harry let him catalogue the differences without interference.

He wondered how Lucius had reacted to his little present, and if Snape knew what he had done. He had a wonderful image of Lucius cocooned in his magic, and felt a thrill of possession and giddiness rush through him.

He had no doubt Snape suspected something, but his prejudice and dislike of Harry would most likely stalk the heels of any suspicions he had. Since his inheritance, Harry’s animosity towards his Professor had faded into a natural fascination and respect; Snape possessed a natural charisma that drew Harry to him. The Professor’s prying didn’t bother him as much as it should.

XxX

Snape watched the Potter boy with carefully shielded incredulity. Not a boy anymore he supposed, but a very powerful young man.

Snape could feel the towering strength of Potter’s magic, but not the inclination. It was just his luck that Potter was one of those Wizards who instinctually knew how to shield magical leanings. Snape himself was one such person, and had been very thankful for it. His magic could in no way be mistaken for light, or even grey; but he presented himself as such. He clashed unconsciously with severely light inclined people- who likewise felt uneasy around him- but was able to fool most of them into thinking it was merely his unpleasant personality they found alarming.

The Malfoys had blood bound inclinations towards the dark, and as such, they could never shield themselves. It was a very good thing that the government recognised leanings as being independent of political factions or from being a ‘good’ or ‘bad’ person, otherwise the world would be a very different place.

James Potter had been on the dark side of grey, which was proof that inclination did not equal allegiance.

Nevertheless, Severus watched Potter with attentive eyes, noting everything he could.

Potter looked very different now, and had transformed from what might have been a bronzed but bony libertine, into something cold and beautiful. He felt his heart quicken unwillingly, and bit his tongue to centre himself.

The young man was saturated in magic, and though he couldn’t feel the darkness, the way his magic lurched towards it was nearly confirmation enough that it was indeed Potter that had sent Lucius comatose.

He was in two minds about it, but the quick, whispered words Lucius had managed before they had fallen through the floo had him thinking deeper into the mystery that was Potter. Perhaps what most affected him were Potter’s new eyes.

Once, Snape had loved Lily with the passion of a man in darkness who had found light. But then they grew up. Lily began to find James charming, and Severus began to discover that men held more appeal than women. He had still loved her as his best and oldest friend, but she had been given a core so bright and luminous it had hurt to be near her. Likewise, she began to regard him with painful, instinctive suspicion, and she broke her own heart every time she saw him.

They said they loved each other for the first and only time in seventh year, and then never spoke again.

Harry’s eyes had reminded him of her- both the wonderful times, and the pain they had been subjected to. He had loved those eyes. But the new eyes were a thousand times more electrifying.

They were black, which was the only thing he could say of them that made quantitative sense. In them he saw the history of the world, raging in a storm of sin and mercy- played out in black and white. He saw shadows smiling at him, dancing slowly with beckoning hips and crooked fingers. He saw everything he had every wanted and dreamed of- everything Lord Voldemort had promised, reflected back at him.

He saw his future in those eyes.

It took him a great deal of effort to pull himself away from Potter, and a greater amount of effort to contain the aching of the broken pieces of his heart and resolution. It was just his luck that Potter had managed to stir up old aches and dreams.

He took deep breaths to bring himself back to an acceptable state of being, and eventually tuned back in to the conversation at the table. The order were taking turns in asking Potter deeply personal questions, and then becoming offended when he declined to answer. The girl beside him was attempting to gain Dumbledore’s attention, but Dumbledore was trying to convince Harry to talk.

Soon enough, it was determined that Potter would not answer anything about his past at the Dursleys, denied any knowledge about his appearance, and acted clueless when asked how he had known the laws so well. 

_“I was bored, and dared myself to read a random book from the library, all the way through.” He shrugged elegantly. “It turned out to be a book on politics. It was terribly boring.”_

Slowly but surely, the order began to leave in order to return to their own homes. They couldn’t satisfy their curiosity on their most common source of gossip, and most saw no point in staying.

Dumbledore made no effort to keep them there.

Soon enough, only Dumbledore, Granger, and the two parent Weasleys were left to bother the boy. The youngest redhead present- Ronald- was sitting silently beside Potter and staring at his parents in exasperation. Every now and then he would flick his eyes to the side to check on Potter, and would visibly relax when he saw Potter’s calm expression.

This intrigued Severus, but only momentarily. He was more interested in watching Potter as he stood slowly from the table, excused himself due to tiredness, and then limped from the room without any heed to the people still talking to him.

He was still caught by the memory of black eyes as they glanced back at him slyly, burning into him.

XxX

 **A/N**   No, Harry will not challenge Voldemort for leadership. They will be equals of a sort.


	8. Secrets and memories

**Authors Note:** _I should probably clarify: this will not be a Harry/Snape, Harry/anyMalfoy, or even- despite this chapter- a Harry/Ron.  I was determined to do an unusual pairing, and I will. I have a person in mind._

**Warnings:** _Sexual actions between two men. Friendly mentions of torture and murder. A sad Dark Lord._

**Disclaimer:** _I do not own Harry Potter._

Harry managed to have an hour of peace, before a frantic knocking at the door disrupted him.

He was completely prepared to ignore it, but when he heard Ron’s voice, muttering lowly to himself, he took a risk and opened the door.

“Quick, invite me in!”

Harry was bemused, but did so, letting the redhead in and closing the door swiftly at the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps.

He turned around and found Ron sitting on a footstool, using his shirt to wipe sweat from his face, looking relieved and disgruntled all at once.

“One second Harry, let me catch my breath. I’ll answer anything you want in a second.”

He took a deep, shuddering breath, and then nodded.

“Thanks mate.”

Harry crossed to the bed and sat down; he heard another set of furious knocks on his door, and Hermione’s strident voice demanding entry, but ignored it in favour of Ron’s gnashing teeth and beseeching gestures to do nothing.

He did, not because Ron had asked him to, but because he wasn’t particularly inclined to be face-to-face with Hermione at the moment. Not when he had no idea when his magical high would crash, and he would be vulnerable. As it was, he was only operating on instinct by having Ron in his room, and it was a risk.

The knocks stopped after about a minute.

“Did you write to me this summer?”

Ron looked at Harry blankly for a moment, before snapping out of it and nodding slightly.

“I did. I wrote you a letter just before I received yours. I wrote you a few more during the holidays, but when you didn’t reply, I thought something must have gone wrong. I decided to leave it, and clear any misconceptions when I saw you again. The _adults_ said you were fine.”

Harry looked at Ron’s open expression and steady demeanour, and said nothing as Ron stood up and moved to sit beside him on the bed, leaning against the headboard.

“How’re you feeling mate?”

Harry gave Ron an amused look, but nevertheless answered.

“Currently? Like I’ve ingested pixie dust. Ask me again in an hour.”

Ron snorted.

“Well that’s well and good. I felt like the entire world had been ripped out from under me. It took me a good week to calm myself down.”

Harry remembered that. Ron hadn’t left his side, and had spent his classes staring at the Slytherins in horrified awe. He been short tempered to his house mates, and completely antagonistic towards Hermione- Harry had ignored it all in favour of being his usual moody self.

His alter ego had been a bit of an insensitive narcissist.

Ron hadn’t mentioned any of this to him at the time though, and to hear it now was interesting.

“My inheritance didn’t go like I expected it to at all. The changes it brought were…devastating.”

Harry studied Ron now. He didn’t look like he shouldn’t; he was taller and broader than Harry, with large hands and a strong, heavily freckled face. His hair was cropped short, and he reminded Harry vaguely of Charlie. But he looked like a Weasley.

What was out of place was Ron’s entire demeanour. His eyes were gazing back at Harry steadily, set in a calm, expectant face. His entire body was slumped in an unknown relief.

Harry was sure Ron hadn’t been like this before the holidays. Ron had always been full of nervous energy, flitting from subject to subject and place to place, even after his 16th. Harry had no clue if this quiet calm was from the inheritance, or something else.

Ron saw Harry’s expression, and began to speak; his words were shadowed with unfamiliar intensity.

“When I woke up on that day, I knew instinctively that things were different.

Before, I spent my life wanting to be known for something- to be respected as an individual. I wanted to be more than a Weasley, or a blood-traitor, or even Harry-Potters-best-friend. I just wanted to be accepted and valued as Ron.”

He glanced at Harry guiltily.

“These were things I prayed for daily- you have no idea how downtrodden and desperate I was. But when I turned 16, something unusual happened. I was still a blood-traitor, and still a Weasley, and obviously, still your best friend; but I was also something more.

As soon as I saw you, the world spun and tipped around me, but it was the most normal I’d ever felt. Everybody else carried on as normal, but I could see a foreign tension slipping from your shoulders as soon as I sat down. Deep down inside of me, something clicked into place, and I knew that I would follow you anywhere.

Something told me that you were the only one who could ever accept me or truly know me. I felt it with a bone deep certainty, and it terrified me. Why should I be so loyal to you? I had no great or compelling reason to be. I had a family; my own life- my own dreams. What would I become or do that only you would be able to accept me for? But none of that seemed to matter.

I was even more terrified when I noticed that the Slytherins didn’t seem to be the menacing, evil group they’d been before. They still did the same things, and threw the same insults, but it was the Gryffindors and their immaturity that I found repulsive. I knew what had happened, I knew that my magical inclination was not as light as it should be, and it worried me to no end. I wasn’t even neutral!”

He paused to make sure Harry understood everything, continuing as Harry gestured idly.

“It would have been hard enough dealing with being the only dark Weasley, but my loyalty to you caused me no end of panic. You were the Golden boy, the boy-who-lived! I had no idea why magic had tied me to you, as well as the dark. I felt like magic had made a very bad mistake. So I made a choice and clung to you. I ignored the irritation incurred by the magically mature, light-sided Gryffindors, and made the choice to carry on as normal.

Every day I practiced shielding my magic, and eventually, I was able to function like I had before. I was able to remain as Ron- Weasley, blood-traitor, and your-best-friend. I was able to swallow my pride and follow the path magic had chosen for me, ignoring the second path with as little thought as possible. It was hard- dark magic felt as natural to me as following you did, but I persevered.

And now, I can feel it. I don’t feel betrayed anymore. I don’t feel empty.”

Ron slid off the bed and knelt in front of Harry, bowing his head.

“I was prepared to follow you because it seemed the better choice of two impossible choices. I ridiculed magic for giving me two _gifts_ , and doubted both you and magic. I took for granted the peace you gave me, and the happiness I felt around you. Even after maturing-I was still selfish.

But now, the constant struggle in me has stilled. I feel whole. I can’t feel your magic, but I just _know_ I don’t have to choose anymore.

Please, _please_ will you accept me again? This time, as I really, truly am.”

He looked up with desperate eyes at Harry, and Harry allowed himself to smile.

“Get up Ron.”

He pulled the red head to his feet and tugged him to the bed.

“You’re my friend Ron, you don’t have to grovel. Nothing has to change unless you will it. I admit to being very surprised by all of this, but at least this way I can be myself with you as well. I didn’t think I’d have a true friend left when everything had settled down.”

The both smiled slightly, and Ron dragged Harry into a strong hug.

“You never have to hide from me Harry. I’m still discovering who I am anyway.”

Harry smirked.

“Even when I killed my ickle, nasty, pervert of an uncle?”

Ron swallowed but nodded.

“I guess I don’t have to guess your inclination then?” he said.

“Now Ron, you know that being dark doesn’t make you murderous. A lot of light siders have done more evil than any dark wizard; take Grindelwald as an example.”

“You actually believe that Ministry written rubbish?” Ron snorted, “Ever since my inheritance, my wet dreams have turned from girls to torture. I don’t buy it, even if it’s apparently a fact.”

Harry laughed.

“Ron, if you get your kicks from torture now, it’s all you. Trust me on this.”

A disgruntled Ron shoved Harry, pouting ridiculously.

“And you, oh great leader of mine? I notice you didn’t deny being evil, you just denied the connection between that and being dark.”

Harry laughed again, flashing perfectly white teeth.

“Evil’s such an _intense_ word. Of course I’m not- I’m Harry Potter.”

Ron snickered, and Harry marvelled at the peace he felt around his friend now. They had transitioned from suspicion to spilling life-altering secrets within half an hour. He had honestly expected that by becoming himself, he would lose everything; at the very least, he never thought he would find himself relaxing with an equally different and secret laden Ron.

Professing to find torture sexually arousing should probably have alarmed Harry, but as it was- he just didn’t care. There were people in this world that would do worse things than Ron might, and truly- Harry was inherently selfish.  Ron was his friend. Everyone else bar a few other potentials meant absolutely nothing to him.

He could see that by normal, accepted standards, there was something very wrong with the way he and Ron were discussing such things and the way they felt about it, but as well as not caring, his magic seemed to approve of it.  There was no point in denying his magic as Ron had done- so he let it go.  His uncle’s murder wouldn’t be his last after all.

Not even his first.

So Harry let the taint of his magic unfurl slowly, letting it unravel from the tight hold he had kept on it. He let it venture about a meter from his body, and watched as a rapturous Ron leaned into it.

He shuddered.

“Merlin Harry, if I were anything less than straight as a board, I’d have you flat on your back right now.”

Harry snorted.

“You could have tried. Besides, I thought torture was more your speed now?”

“I’m demented, not asexual! Thank Merlin for small mercies I guess.” Ron smirked, “But you’d have liked that wouldn’t you Harry- I always thought you were a fancy one.”

Within two seconds Ron was on his back, hands stretched over his head, mouth agape as Harry ran delicate fingers over the obvious bulge in his pants.

“It’s the magic you arse! Let me up.”

Harry sighed and straddled a frozen Ron, leaning down to nip his lower lip. Ron let out a strangled half groan-half squeak, then went instantly limp when Harry bit into his shoulder.

“But you like it anyway don’t you Ron? You like the way I make you feel?”

He pressed closer, grinding his body against his friends, listening to soft sounds he made with each movement.

“Shall I stop Ron?” He whispered, “Or should I do this?”

He thickened his magic until sparks visibly leapt and spat from his fingers, brushing gently over Ron’s lips until tiny droplets of blood welled from invisible cuts. Ron gazed up at Harry with heavily lidded eyes and licked the redness from his lips.

“Don’t stop.”

XxX

Ron and Harry lay side by side on Sirius’ old bed. Ron was playing with Harry’s hair and smiling fondly.

“Thanks for that Harry,” He murmured.

Harry arched his back, stretching his sweat drenched body with an obvious groan of pleasure.

“Ron, I think my inheritance made me more of a social deviant than yours did. Besides, I think our magic likes each other; you’re stuck with me.”

Ron’s face softened and he touched his friend’s shoulder briefly in unspoken thanks.

“Besides I should be thanking you. Those little sounds you made-“

Ron pushed Harry off the bed and snorted as Harry landed face down on the carpet.

“How graceful you are.”

Harry rolled his eyes as he climbed back on the bed and under the covers. He lay his head on Ron’s chest and closed his eyes with a sigh.

“So why are we truly in separate rooms, do you know?”

“It’s not that we needed to be separated Harry, you know the order would have loved to have a friendly eye on you. It’s that you couldn’t stay in any room but this one, and nobody else could enter it unless invited in by you.

 And it would have been suspicious if anybody had to ask you for permission to come in, you know? You might begin to question why. Honestly,” Ron shook his head, “it’s like they don’t think you’re smart enough to put everything together.”

Ron’s faultless belief in Harry’s ability’s was a new but pleasing experience to Harry. It made his tired magic thrum in approval.

“Well, I wasn’t aware people would need my permission to enter, but I had gathered this was where the head or heir apparent slept; Kreacher helped with that. It’s elementary from there.”

There was silence for a moment, before Ron spoke up quietly.

“Do you want to talk about what happened this summer Harry? It’s almost like you’re a completely different person.”

He looked at the subtle glow to Harry’s skin, and the inviting way he draped himself; the eyes that studied him now were hard and cold, but no less intoxicating than they had been mere minutes before.

Harry had been good-looking before, in a boy-next-door, rough and tumble kind of way, but never had Ron thought more than that. Now, lying next to Harry, he felt something sweet and painful grip his chest.

This Harry was beautiful in the way that faith was. Faith, which caused bloody, wretched wars filled with horror and pain. Faith, in the way that a wingless bird flew, or a child dreamed beautiful dreams.

He let his magic fill him, and for the first time, truly accepted what it told him.

_Protect him. Love him. Be his shield and armour._

Harry had turned into something beyond what humans were capable of- but he was fragile too.

He looked into Harry’s still searching eyes, and brushed gentle lips across his friend’s forehead, feeling proud as Harry let his eyes close slowly.

“Never mind Harry, you don’t need to tell me.”

He felt tension bleed from Harry’s body that he hadn’t realised was even there, and wrapped both of his arms around him.

“Tomorrow,” Harry murmured, “I’ll tell you a story about a young boy called Harry Potter, and how he became a man…”

When he looked down, Ron saw a deeply sleeping Harry, obviously drained by his inheritance at last. He smiled slightly and tightened his arms, content to listen to the house creak and moan as Harry finally rested.

XxX

Severus Snape sat in a room that was lavishly decorated in blue. He sat in a chair beside a bed, in which lay Lucius Malfoy, his friend.

Draco, his godson, was sitting in an identical chair on the opposite side of the bed.

“How long now, Uncle Severus?”

The young man was leaning forward, looking at his father’s face with interest.

 _‘At least he’s stopped panicking’_ , thought Severus _. ‘A panicking Malfoy is a terrible thing to behold._ ’

“Any moment now; I’ve leeched as much of the magic as I could from him, but as I’ve said, it wasn’t much.”

Draco nodded and ran pale hands through his hair, thankful that his mother wasn’t there. His parent’s had once loved each other, and had been lucky to have an arranged marriage based on such love, but as some things do- it fell apart.

His father was striking to behold, both at work and during times of leisure. He was focused and driven, and motivated mainly by the continuation of his family’s prosperous future.

He thought he had found a match in Narcissa, someone equally as passionate as he who he could share his more vulnerable, closely guarded side with.

He had thought wrong.

Narcissa was the youngest and most beautiful of three sisters. She had been raised from birth to capitalise on her charm and delicacy, and act the part of the perfect woman. Lucius had seen his passion reflected back at him when he looked into her eyes and mistook it as her own.

After a few years had passed and Lucius truly became a man, he realised that Narcissa shared no interests with him bar a love of luxury. He tried to find common ground, and recapture the love he remembered feeling, but Narcissa had also realised that her dream was faulty, and resented him unfairly for it.

After Draco’s birth, she began to reject him more openly and coldly, and eventually Lucius let his heart shatter and repair, and he moved on. He focused his attentions on his son and in him, found his ability to forgive both Narcissa and himself.

She did not.

Draco had grown at his father’s knee, and he regreted nothing.

A movement from the bed made him look back down at his father, where his father looked back with calm eyes.

He startled. “Father, don’t move.”

Lucius continued to watch his son peacefully from his place in the bed as Severus stood to inspect him, muttering inaudibly as he flicked his wand about.

“You’re fine,” said Severus, “your core is at its peak capacity and your mind is clear of any obstructions. Any abnormalities I perceived in your magic before are now completely absent. You should be able to sit up.”

Lucius pushed himself up- waving Draco’s hands away- and sat with his hands clasped loosely in his lap. He glanced at his son again, before turning to Severus.

“There is nothing wrong with me?” He repeated. “Absolutely nothing affecting me right now?”

Severus pursed his lips.

“Nothing that my scans could pick up. You know I am no medi-wizard though.“

Lucius shook his head.

“No, I trust you. I trust the results, I just…”

He stared for a long time at Severus, staring hard until he found what he was looking for. A tiny smirk tugged at his lips.

“I assume you are recently returned from an order meeting Severus. How fares Mr Potter?”

Draco sat dumbfounded in his seat as Severus grimaced and broke eye contact with his father.

“He led the order in a merry chase and gave them exactly nothing of what they were looking for. He has them convinced he has been so terribly traumatised by his childhood that it thus affected his inheritance. He looks nothing like before Lucius. He looks nothing like _any_ Potter ever has.”

“Yes, and what a shocking surprise that was. I wouldn’t be surprised if ‘Boy Saviour abused by muggles’ was tomorrow’s headline. Merlin knows the ministry won’t be able to keep the trial a secret for a single day.”

Severus scowled.

“The ministry should have done their jobs! It’s policy to check on orphaned purebloods. Lily had a core; you know that makes him one!”

Lucius frowned at his friend, ignoring his son who sat motionless, obviously trying to understand what had happened.

“Don’t project your own guilt onto the ministry Severus. They did their jobs. Your prejudice blinded you.

Indeed, even my own son saw nothing beyond a famous name and rejected handshake.”

He ignored his son’s flinch, and continued.

“My point, Severus, is that something neither of us completely understands has occurred. I can feel the remnants of your magic inside me- I know you felt him too.

Mr Potter’s magic is intoxicating.

Before that, at the trial, I felt driven to help him. He has an unconditional boon from the Minister as a result of my support; it felt completely natural to listen and conform to him.

 I lost my sense of self in front of him- but I felt no fear.”

He trailed off, looking pensively into space, and Severus looked at Draco, who was staring at his father as if he had just turned into a house elf and sang the Hogwarts’s school song.

“Potter?” Draco’s voice was strangled by incredulity. “You believe the Harry Potter has magic capable of debilitating you? That he has the presence or wits to influence you? Father, please; even an inheritance isn’t capable of that.”

Lucius eyes gleamed strangely as he gazed at his son. “Draco, not only is Potter vastly different- he may as well be an entirely new person. Only once in my life have I met someone who was as overwhelming or fearsome without trying to be, and that was a long time ago.

In Potter’s eyes I saw my redemption.”

Professor Snape pursed his lips and looked away, which was enough of an agreement as ever from the bitter professor; Draco felt something foreign and cold run quiet fingers down his spine.

He saw Potter’s face in his mind, round and bronze, lazy with Gryffindor certainty, but as always, it never seemed right. It had driven him mad, seeing the perfectly put together puzzle that was the boy-who-lived, and now he was being told that there may have been a reason for his baseless paranoia.

Perhaps it was the abuse he had not known about, or the mask he must have worn, but something had always seemed missing from the picture. He had always been driven to seek him out- to be noticed by him. It was possible- and even, somehow, likely- that Potter had always been dark.

He looked at his father who glowed with slow burning anticipation.

Never in his life had his father showed such hope over anything. He had been proud, pleased and pleasant, but never hopeful. What had he to hope for? The Lord he was bound to had slowly turned insane, his wife refused all overtures of friendship, and his only true friend was a double-agent.

Whatever Potter had been or done in the past, Draco would next meet him with open eyes.

Draco remembered the complete peace of his father’s face while unconscious, and the rapture in his Godfather’s voice when he sampled the foreign magic.  He remembered all of this, and allowed himself to hope.

Malfoys were bound to the Dark. Perhaps the Potter he knew had never existed.

XxX

The sound of Nagini’s scales as she slid across the marbled floor mesmerised the Dark Lord.

He sat in his Throne Room, where the death eaters usually gathered and remained for meetings; it was currently empty of anyone bar him, but his thoughts could have filled the air a thousand times.

For the first time in a long time, he was sane.

His thoughts were clear and focused, his mind keen, and his magic stable. These things and more he let swell and crash within him.

The things he had done in the name of his ancestors did not trouble him; but the things he had done with no apparent cause did. He studied the scales that shimmered on his skeletal hand delicately, and felt sorrow fill him.

The man he had become was a monster.

He remembered Abraxas Malfoy sitting with him after class, promising loyalty forever- not because of necessity or blood, but because he wanted to. They had been friends.

_Lucius didn’t move as the spell hit him, but the sound he made was haunting. Through it all, his eyes were betrayed. His father lay dead on the floor._

He remembered the noble purpose he had been driven to achieve. He had dreamt of a future where nobody suffered on the whims of muggles or madmen.

_The agony in a young Snape’s eyes when he realised what the prophecy meant, and that it was too late to take it back; the certainty that no one would be shown mercy._

He remembered showing no discrimination in his anger. No humanity.

Now he sat haunted by his own failings, with a broken empire at his feet. He could breathe again, and see again and feel again- but what he experienced pained him.

He knew what his return to sanity meant, and he held it to his chest like an unuttered secret. He had more to thank Mr Potter for than words could express.

But for now, he would wait. He would take a moment to mourn the boy he had been, and the people he had forsaken. Just this once he would let emotion overcome him.

Come tomorrow, a true Dark Lord would rise, but for now, he was only a man.

He let himself crumble.


	9. The folly of falsities

**Authors Note:** _Hermione is righteous, Ginny is delusional, Remus is absent._

_Ron and Harry have a close bond that allows them to sense each other’s limits and needs, and therefore act accordingly. Ron will know that Harry is now very sexual, and will feel comfortable interacting with him in that manner in order to provide a safe person for Harry to do that with, and Harry will know Ron is a sadist, and may indulge him in that way._

**Warnings:** _Mental torture. I’m setting Ginny up for a fairly large fall. I don’t like her._

**Disclaimer:** _I do not own Harry Potter._

_ Excerpt from the book ‘The Maturing Wizard’ written by Lord Jonas Flint, 1955 _

_True-blooded magicals come into magical maturity at the age of sixteen, when their cores mature and they develop into themselves as human beings. If the Wizarding world only consisted of such wizards, the legal age of magic use would be sixteen- as decreed by magic._

_Instead, the prevalence of coreless mud-bloods in our society has forced the law to push the legal age of magic usage back a year, to the age that our children graduate._

XxX

Harry awoke because he couldn’t breathe.

Straight away, he knew that Ron had never left, and had somehow fallen asleep on top of him instead. He didn’t mind; in fact, this was the first time he had slept more than four hours for several years.  But still, he couldn’t breathe.

He pushed Ron off his ribcage, where he curled beside Harry instead, wrapping one firm arm around Harry’s waist, which he used to drag him closer. Harry chuckled breathlessly, and let himself relax.

Nobody could enter this room without his permission. He felt warm and safe, and powerful; his magic had settled into his skin comfortably, but he could still feel it- ready to leap to his aid should he need it.

Judging from the light that streamed from the windows, it was morning already. Soon- whether he wanted it or not- somebody would be sent to make sure he came down to breakfast.

He was contemplating the benefits of waking Ron up now versus in 10 minutes, when he felt Ron groan and pull away slightly.

“Too early,” came Ron’s voice, muffed by Harry’s neck. “Make the sun go away.”

Harry snorted, and pulled completely out of Ron’s hold.

“I’m flattered by your faith in my abilities Ron,” he said, “but I’m afraid it’s just a little too far out of my reach.”

Ron groaned again and sat up slowly, glaring blearily at the sunlight. He turned to Harry as the brunet slipped from the bed, walking over to the wardrobe to rummage inside for clothing.

“What are you doing?” Ron groused. “Come back here and keep me warm.”

Harry chuckled.

“I’m going to have a shower before your mother insists we go down to eat. I’d rather be bathed and clothed wouldn’t you?”

He ran warm eyes over Ron’s freckled chest and grinned slowly.

“You could always join me in the hot water if my body heat is so essential.”

Ron blushed lightly and tried to pull his eyes away from Harry’s hand, which had been gliding closer to his pubic area with each word. He watched as pale hands stroked and pulled his friend to hardness.

“I’m still sore from last night.” Ron breathed.” But I could…you know- with my mouth.”

Harry laughed cheerfully and strode swiftly over to the redhead on the bed, whom he pulled into a tight embrace.

“How about a normal shower? You wash my back, I wash yours, and neither of us goes any further than that.”

Ron relaxed a little and nodded dumbly, watching as Harry pulled away and walked towards the bathroom, the muscles in his back and thighs moving powerfully beneath his skin as he did so.

Harry stopped in the doorway and turned to face Ron.

“Are you coming, Mr Straight-man?”

Ron snorted, and swung his feet over and out of the bed, wincing a little at the pain in his backside. He waved off Harry’s concerned look and took confident steps towards the bathroom.

“You’re an exception Harry.  But before anything else, you’re my best mate. Well actually, you’re my Magical Lord before anything else, but you know…”

Harry smiled softly and clasped his friend on the shoulder when they drew even.

“Your friendship is all I need Ron, but I’ll accept anything you want to offer.”

They shared a brief moment of profound silence before Ron chuckled, and gestured for Harry to precede him into the bathroom.

The door swung closed quietly, and locked with a brief flash of magic. Neither Harry nor Ron noticed the mark that had appeared on Ron at the conclusion of that brief conversation- but they would in a few days.

XxX

When Harry opened the bedroom door, he found Ginny standing with one hand raised to knock.

She took in the sight of Harry- who wore rich green robes- and Ron- who had dressed in a pair of black slacks and a blue, button up shirt that he had borrowed from Harry- and felt both lust and embarrassment. Lust for the striking figure Harry cut and embarrassment for her own faded jeans and t-shirt; especially when her own brother, the messiest out of all of them, outclassed her.

She had only caught a glimpse of Harry when he had stepped from the floo yesterday, and all she saw was blood. Her mother had kept her confined to her room for the rest of the night, and this was the first time she had seen him properly since school. The change in eye colour was perhaps the most shocking difference, and while they suited his darker demeanour very well, they made something in her flinch when he looked at her. He looked nothing like he had, and nothing like the world had predicted, but Ginny still found herself aching for him.

She opened her mouth to say something intelligent or hopefully charming, but what came out instead was a decidedly indignant,

“What are you wearing?”

Ron, the one to whom this comment was directed, flicked a look at Harry and faced his sister fully.

“Clothing, Ginny. The same thing I wear every day.”

His sister began to turn red and ball her fists, so he decided to take pity on her.

“Harry leant me some of his clothing so that I didn’t have to change back into my old clothing. I stayed the night.”

Ginny frowned. Nothing Ron had said was rude or dismissive, but something about the way he spoke and stood rubbed her the wrong way. Maybe it was the fact that in those clothes Ron looked the part of a pureblood, which he never had before. Maybe it was the straightness of his stance or the distant politeness in his voice, but she felt she was being judged in some manner, and not very flatteringly.

She looked at Harry again, shoving Ron’s strangeness to the back of her mind, and smiled coyly.

“Mum says to come down for breakfast now. You need your energy after last night.”

Harry and Ron smiled odd smiles, and Harry nodded slightly.

“Lead the way Ginny, if you please,” he murmured, and Ginny took note that even his voice had changed. It was smoother than it used to be.

She blushed a little as he rested a hand in the small of her back, and walked her down the hallway and stairs to the kitchen. She stood proudly as her mother caught sight of them and blushed when her mother gave her an approving smile.

Ginny sat next to her mother and eyed the empty chair next to her with an air of expectation, but Harry had already walked past her and to the other side of the table, where he and Ron then proceeded to sit down.; she flushed when they continued talking without even looking in her direction once. A newly arrived Hermione sat down in the seat she had been saving and proceeded to hiss indignantly in her ear.

_Why was Harry talking to Ron and not her?_

_Why had Harry killed his uncle, surely being beaten wasn’t worth death?_

_Where was Dumbledore? Where was Snape?_

_How dare Ron act so estranged from her when he had been perfectly normal before Harry came?_

Ginny listened half-heartedly, nodding when she thought Hermione wanted it and making vague noises of agreement every few sentences. On her other side her mother was sending Ronald exasperated gazes and trying to talk to him about his clothing, while her father sighed and ate his porridge. Every now and then he would glance at Ron with an alien expression on his face, before taking another mouthful.

She ignored all of this. She ignored the frenzied tornado of resentment that was her brother’s love interest; the way her mother would pat her on the knee with a damp, heavy hand; her father and brother’s strange behaviour.

She ignored everything but the dryness in her mouth and the thudding her chest that said:

_There he is-my Mr right._

She had been raised as the only girl in a tribe of boys. She had been spoilt and coddled and loved fiercely by both parents, as no other sibling had- she was the first Weasley girl born in 120 years. Most of all, she had been raised on a daily diet of fairy tales, wherein the boy-who-lived and his beautiful red-haired princess saved the day and lived happily ever after.

Harry and her belonged together.

XxX

Harry and Ron were discussing the situation with Hermione, when the mail came.

The Weasley’s old owl Errol came barrelling in, supported by Harry’s own owl, who was clacking her beak tiredly. Hedwig steered Errol over to Molly, before flopping to the table and hopping over to Harry, leaving overturned jam jars and sugar bowls in her wake.

She stood in front of him and stared at him with wide yellow eyes, before chuffing in relief and fluttering up to sit on his shoulder. She spent a moment checking his face for injuries or major differences with her wings, before turning and finally accepting the bacon Harry held out.

Harry smiled and was softly stroking her stomach with a finger when Molly let out a gasp.

“You poor boy!”

She dropped the unread paper to the table and hurried around the table to heave an irritated Harry to her bosom. _Potter heir abused by muggles!_ glared up at him in thick black lettering from the front page, below which was a picture of him as he had exited the trial chamber, covered in blood. He hadn’t been aware of any reporters, but wasn’t surprised that they had been present somehow. He _was_ surprised that they had focused primarily on him being the Potter heir instead of the boy-who-lived, but assumed the prophet must be cautious after his inheritance. Who knows what he was entitled to? He certainly didn’t.

Molly already knew of what had happened, even if she hadn’t known the details, so Harry was bemused by her sudden bout of motherly affection. She hadn’t even read the whole article, which was now being consumed by a pale Hermione.

“They released the whole trial Harry!”

She sounded worried, but her eyes tore across the paper in avid interest. Harry cleared his throat, and managed to pry Mrs Weasley off him. Ginny had stood and was making her way around the table as well, with an acute expression of sympathy and sadness glossing her features; Harry could almost see the light that surrounded her in a fuzzy halo- the type sickly patients had, not angels.

He heard Ron snort and suddenly found himself pulled from his chair and onto Ron’s lap. Ginny stopped short about an arm’s length away, and grit her teeth as Ron began rubbing Harry’s back and bemoaning Harry’s fate in a loud, wavering voice. Hedwig had barely kept her place on Harry’s shoulder during the sudden movement, and found herself tumbling off as Harry turned his face into Ron’s chest and began to laugh silently. She hit Harry’s head with her wing as she was forced to take flight again, and glided over to land on a suddenly present Snape’s shoulder, barking at Ginny as she passed.

Snape paused in his stride to stare at the owl. Both owl and man refused to break eye contact, and with a roll of his eyes, Severus continued to his seat. He fed the owl his toast as he watched the hullabaloo absently.

He had already read the newspaper at Lucius’s, and was suitably justified by the amount of information revealed. The minister was obviously treading carefully due to his upcoming trial, and was being as truthful as possible without coming across as the bad man.

According to the minister, Heir Potter had always been powerful and influential, and despite what he had confessed under veritaserum, he had acted with only his nation’s best interests in mind. He had a great respect for Heir Potter, and meant no disrespect or dishonour by what had occurred. He wished only the best for the young wizard, and hoped they would work together in the future. He was also very sorry for what had happened to him.

The trial was printed verbatim as well, and was illustrated with pictures taken during the trial. There was a particularly striking one of Lucius and Potter shaking hands, and anyone with a discerning eye could see the strength present in both men, even if one appeared as a tall, blood-drenched and masculine woman. If one looked closer, they could see the slight tilt of Lucius’s head in respect, but he imagined that most wouldn’t- certainly, it was unbelievable.

At present, the Weasley girl was scolding her brother for mocking what she was sure was very traumatic for Harry. Her mother was nodding along severely, and her father was staring impassively at the ceiling. Granger- that annoying know-it-all- was several pages into the paper, and was tutting softly under her breath at each paragraph. Surely she was berating someone in her head; the paper for publishing it; the journalist for the style of writing; the minister, or Lucius- perhaps even Potter. He was quite sure she wasn’t mocking Dumbledore, though he didn’t doubt she occasionally had lapses when she did- very small lapses that she immediately felt horrible about; if nothing else, the girl had a thing for authority.

Eventually, Potter turned to Ginny with a careful, polite expression on his face and spoke slowly and calmly.

“Ginny, I’m terribly sorry, but I’m beginning to get a headache and I’ve plum run out of potions for them. I knew the trial would be published to this extent, I was prepared for it. I banked on it.”

“You wanted this to happen?” interrupted Hermione, “this is terrible! Why would you want everybody to know that you were abused- especially to the extent you were! Everybody will treat you differently now. For goodness sake- everyone will know you’re a murderer!”

Silence settled heavily over the table, and Harry gingerly climbed out of Ron’s lap and back into his own chair. Even Snape had stopped eating, and was looking at Hermione.

When Harry spoke, his voice was completely empty of emotion.

“Hermione,” he began quietly, “I understand that you are a muggleborn. I understand that the laws on inheritance are not easy to find, which I admit may be a fault that needs correcting, but surely such a clever witch as you had the foresight to do your research before making such heavy accusations?”

Hermione turned red and leaned forward to speak, ignoring the insistent tugging of a quickly returned Ginny on her sleeve.

“Accusations Harry? You killed your uncle. A fact is a fact. Inheritance or not, there is never an excuse for murder.”

Ginny had stopped the tugging, and was backing away from her friend to stand beside her mother a few seats away; both were bone-white and speechless.

“Hermione.” Ron had stood up and was standing in front of his seat with narrowed eyes, “you have no idea what you’re talking about! So for once, why don’t you stay quiet, and-“

“Ron.”

Harry’s soft voice could barely be heard, but Ron immediately stopped talking and sat back down. He continued to look at Hermione with an outraged expression, but stayed silent and in place as Harry rested a calming hand on his knee.

“Hermione, despite your common ignorance, you are still one of my best friends.” Harry placed a long-fingered hand over his heart, ignoring the anger that boiled in her eyes. “I will not argue with you over whether it was justified- my magic did it in my stead, at a time where I was not capable of debating its justification. I will not argue with you over whether I am a murderer- by definition, a murderer is a person who takes a life with premeditated malice, and despite it all, would you truly say that of me? If you were informed, you would know that not a force in the Wizarding world would blame me- bar ignorant muggleborns- and it disappoints me to know that you are one.

I am hurt that you have not sought to comfort me for what you know now was occurring, and disappointed that your first thought was to condemn me.

I wanted the truth to be printed for various reasons.

I am the boy-who-lived, and a victim of abuse. Perhaps now, people who keep quiet about such things will realise that it can happen to anyone, that it is not their fault, and that there is no shame in asking for help; just because my pleas went unheard does not mean I stopped trying.”

In Harry’s eyes was truth and rage, and Ron squeezed the hand that still rested on his knee.

“Similarly, I have had slander printed about me for years. Nobody has been sure of the truth of who I am, and for once, they have facts to base their opinion on.

What bad can come of this being printed that will affect me? Tell me rationally, and I’ll listen.”

Hermione had deflated a little, and was now staring at Harry with wet eyes; regardless, she still opened her mouth and dug a deeper hole.

“How dare you,” she breathed forcefully, “demean muggleborns like that? You of all people should know what it is like coming into this world with no prior knowledge or instruction!”

Harry exhaled heavily.

“I accuse you of being unfeeling, uninformed and lacking rationality, and you choose to debate my political correctness? Hermione, I came into this world- not wanting to change it as you do, but to understand it. I am a wizard, not a muggle. You can have a foot in both worlds, but it’s folly to apply the laws and customs of one to the other.”

Hermione might have said something else, but someone had the foresight to silence her. Harry blinked a few times heavily and rolled his neck, then smiled charmingly; his black eyes gleamed dangerously, a strange thing in his amiable expression.

“Merlin, all that debate has made me hungry again- would you mind making some more toast Molly, I’m feeling a little weak still.”

Molly nodded, and both she and Ginny disappeared into the kitchen, Ginny holding her mother’s hand and talking to her softly. Arthur was once again disregarding everything, and began trying to talk to Snape about muggle herbs in potions. Surprisingly, Snape was accommodating him and found the red head to be a fan of his work, which was strange in itself. Apparently the redhead –who had been several years ahead of him in school-, had gone through a stage where he had been as avid about potions as he now was about muggle appliances.

Hermione was ignoring everyone, and had picked up the newspaper to finish reading it. She would stare at Harry furiously every now and then, and then at Ron with honest betrayal, before remembering herself and going back to the paper.

It was all very dramatic to Harry, who had truly expected Hermione to have the sense to keep her bias to herself. He found himself almost hurt by her dramatics, but Ron placed a hidden hand teasingly on his crotch, and the emotion was demolished by amusement as he rolled his eyes at his friends attempt at comfort.

He knew Ron was straight, but apparently he was very willing to bend a little. He ran a thumb over the blade of his knife gently until it bled, and pretended not to notice as Ron’s eye’s glazed over and his hand pressed down a little harder.

To be honest, he knew ‘his plan’ concerning Vernon would have consequences on his new psyche, but he was interested by the direction his deviation had matured.

He felt a heady sense of power over Ron in this second, and an overwhelming sensation of arousal; he pressed his thumb steadily into the knife until it began to bleed copiously, and flicked the blood provocatively on the table until Ron let out a moan.

Molly, who had just left the kitchen, stared oddly at Ron for a second, before seeing the blood on Harry’s hand, and rushing towards him.

Ron quickly removed his hand, placing it hurriedly on his lap and clenching his slacks with white knuckles.

“Harry dear, whatever happened?”

Harry gently tugged his hand from where she had snatched it up and was inspecting it, and carefully wiped it on his napkin.

“I heard a noise-perhaps Kreacher- and jumped a little. My hand slipped.”

He ignored her attempts to pick it up again, and stood. Ron stood with him.

“I’m going to go and clean it with water Mrs Weasley. If I think it needs a potion, I’ll be sure to come and find you. Perhaps Professor Snape, if he allows.”

Snape nodded curtly, which Harry took as a glowing acceptance, and so he turned to leave.

“Take Ginny with you dear, you might need help bandaging it or double checking it. A second opinion is always wise.”

Harry pretended to think it over.

“I didn’t leave my bathroom in the best state Mrs Weasley. I wouldn’t like Ginny to think I’m untidy.”

Molly’s eyes had tightened at the mention of Harry’s room, but she persevered.

“I’m sure there’s another bathroom that’s clean, dear.”

Harry nodded, “yes, but I was going to go back to my room anyway. I’m sorry for wasting the toast Mrs Weasley, but I think I need a nap.”

Molly gave a reluctant nod, and let Harry leave unobstructed.

“I’m taking Ron with me Mrs Weasley- don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”

Molly pretended to be relieved, while Ginny couldn’t hide her disappointment.

XxX

The rest of the day had passed in a similar manner, with Hermione ignoring Harry at every meal, and Ron blatantly disregarding her attempts to talk to him. Harry was writing a list of things to do, and couldn’t be bothered even pretending her silence hurt him. As far as things stood, her opinion was irrelevant.

Snape had left after lunch and left the Weasleys, Hermione and Harry alone in the house.

Ginny had tried a few times to talk to Harry about what had happened, but eventually he had told her that in no uncertain terms would he talk about it, let alone with the little sister of his best friend.

She had flushed a horrible red colour and rushed from the library in tears. Ron, from his place beside Harry on the loveseat had snorted, and then shrugged at Harry’s questioning expression.

“She’s always had an inflated sense of herself. She’s the only girl of seven kids- she grew up thinking she was special.”

Harry nodded, and went back to his list, but not ten minutes later Hermione came storming in, already certain in her righteousness.

Ron automatically stood and moved towards her, but at Harry’s silent request, he diverted around her and walked to the library door instead. She was too incensed to notice.

Ron silently summoned Kreacher, whom Harry had introduced him formally to after breakfast, and had the elf lock and silence the door. Kreacher took one look at the angry mud-blood, his calm Master, the Master’s redhead, and retreated into the shadow of a bookshelf to watch.

 By now, Hermione had reached Harry’s chair, and was yelling at Harry about his callousness. Ron was almost in awe of her selective blindness, and felt slightly ill at the fact that he had been worse at times. He felt ill at the underserved things she was shouting at Harry, and had to force himself to stay where he was.

“How dare you treat Ginny like that? She’s a human being, a person who just wanted to help! What gives you the right to demean her like that?”

Little by little, Ron watched as Hermione questioned every positive aspect of Harry’s person, and was sure that her indignation over the events of breakfast was spilling over into her current grievance.

It began to darken a little, and Ron stared with wide eyes as the candle nearest him spat violently, and sizzled out.

He could hear a low buzzing in the back of his head, and tore his eyes away from the dead candle to stare in alarm at Harry, whose hair had fallen out of its ribbon, and was falling in front of his face like a rippling shield.

Hermione was still talking, but even she had realised that something unusual was happening, and was attempting to bring her argument to a close.

She spat one last anxious condemnation at Harry and turned to leave, but before she could even catch a glimpse of Ron by the door, she found herself held in place.

“Hermione.” Harry crooned.

“Darling, precious, Her-mi-one.”

He had stood, and his hands were clenching her shoulders tightly, digging painfully into the skin and preventing all movement. She let out a high pitched noise of pain, and Ron found himself shifting breathlessly by the door.

“Won’t you let me tell you my side, Her-mi-one?”

She found herself pushed into the seat he had been sitting in. She tried to stand back up, but something seemed to hold her in place.

Several feet away, Ron could see the shadows that hooked slyly into her clothing and hair, but focused more on Harry, who had glided around the back of the love seat, and was whispering smoothly in her ear.

“Hermione, my Hermione. Lover of Knowledge, yes? Lover of factsss.”

Hermione flinched at the hiss, and began crying. She had no idea what was happening, but she was terrified. The air around her was heavy and cold, and with every breath she took, her head throbbed and her thoughts became just a bit more hazy.

She could feel Harry stroking her hair with gentle fingers, and that more than anything, caused her to fear.

“My righteous Hermione, so sure of herself; there is never an excuse for murder is there, Hermione?”

Ron jumped as a shadow leapt from the corner beside him and raced towards Harry, shimmering and turning into the silhouette of a beautiful little girl. The girl had a head full of wild, springy ringlets, and tiny, chubby hands. Ron knew, somehow, that this was Hermione as a child.

The shadow, child-Hermione, giggled and clung to her counterpart’s legs, burbling an endless, wordless litany of words.

Hermione, the real one, tried to reach a hand out to the child, to scream at it to run away- to leave at once, but her lips were rubber and lead, and she couldn’t speak.

Harry cooed, and the child cooed back, and Hermione began crying even harder, wanting to close her eyes and turn away.

“Weren’t you beautiful Hermione? Look at how happy you were- how sweet. What if someone else had noticed that, someone meant to love you; to protect you. What if they wanted that All. To . Themselves?”

Another shadow faded into existence- a man with Hermione’s face and hair.

“Say hello to Daddy Granger little Hermione.”

The little shadow laughed and ran to her father, letting him pick her up and swing her in the air. Ron watched the two play for a while, ignoring the grim smile Kreacher had on his face in favour of watching Harry place gentle kisses on Hermione’s hair.

It was a lovely moment between father and daughter, ruined only by Hermione’s muffed tears and aborted movements. Without warning, the air began audibly buzzing. A wind began to whistle through the shelves, brushing fingers so cold they burned against any bared limb.

The shadows, which before had seemed so happy, were darkening and sharpening, sending random spikes of blackness out to lash at the books and carpet.

The tall shadow- the man- was expanding and absorbing the smaller one, which was flickering and struggling to get away. Panic and pain consumed everyone in the room; even Kreacher was standing more stiffly.

The strange wind crept up behind everyone and whispered unanswered secrets in throbbing ears; the sounds were quiet and high and completely foreign, but all Ron could hear was crying. His heart trembled in sorrow, and he flicked his eyes to a blank-faced, dead-eyed Harry.

The wind picked up, the taller shadow grew larger, and suddenly with a horrible, hopeless cry, the small shadow vanished.

All at once, the lights flickered back on.

Hermione found herself free to move and free to breathe, and found herself lying face down on the floor when she stood.

“Hermione, are you all right?”

“Don’t touch me!”

Harry was kneeling beside her, reaching out a hand to help her up.

“Hermione, wha-“

“I said get away from me!”

Harry did, moving backwards slowly with both hands raised palm forward.

“Are you alright Hermione? You fell pretty hard.”

He pointed to a pile of books at her feet, and the marble floor they rested on.

She laughed, and pushed herself to her feet. Her head was still quite clouded and slow, but she knew what he was trying to do.

“You won’t fool me. I know what you did.”

She stumbled a little, and leant heavily on a bookshelf as she recovered her balance.

“You did something to me!”

She gagged a little, and rubbed her stomach with her free hand, trying to think through her burning throat and hazy mind.

“Go and get Mrs Weasley Ron, I think she has a concussion.”

She saw who must have been Ron, nod and leave through the door, pausing to talk to something first.

“Hermione.”

Harry had come up behind her and was supporting her with his shoulder.

“Come on Hermione, we’ll get you to the kitchen.”

She struggled, she truly did, but her movements were weak and sluggish.

In the end, Harry ended up picking her up and cradling her like she was a child. He walked slowly towards the doorway where he stopped, and she picked up brief pieces of a conversation during periods of lucidness.

Harry whispered something to her, something that made her insides tremble and her panic spike, but all she knew then was a flash of light and gentle fingers in her hair.

Somewhere in the shadows, a child laughed.

XxX

A/N The next chapter will be a trip to the bank and to Diagon Alley in general. The one after that might be their return to Hogwarts.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


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